


what's life without a little risk

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Formula One, Mechanics, a universe no one asked for and yet I provide for some reason, adrenaline junkies jonerys, grease monkey jon snow, this was supposed to be a one-shot and then I gave them all kinds of issues, tomboy daenerys targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: All Robb wants to do is win the Formula One Westeros Championship, but when their biggest rivals knock him out of commission, he has to findsomeoneto drive for Stark Racing...and it just so happens to be his cousin Jon's ex-wife...Daenerys Targaryen.  To Jon's displeasure, Dany returns to his life, bringing up old wounds for them both, but the former sweethearts could never really stay apart.AKA:No one: ....Absolutely no one: ...Like literally no one ever: ...Me:  What if Jon and Dany were racecar drivers?**COMPLETE**
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 113
Kudos: 636





	1. accelerating to death

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of my fics, what started as just a fun little one-shot that was supposed to be like 5,000 words of them having sex in a garage after fighting turned into something with an entire plot and drama and angst. Ugh. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Car crashes, divorce, miscarriage/stillborn (spoiler?)
> 
> Chapter two will be up soonish.

* * *

“Seven hells!”

Robb gripped the handle of his crutch so tight he felt his palm cramp, the knuckles white with worrying anticipation. He vibrated in place, blue eyes wide and gaping on the car as it sped around the track, the stopwatch in his other hand burning hot as the numbers flashed too fast for his eyes to keep on them and also watch what was happening on the track. “Yes,” he hissed, glancing quickly at the watch and then out to the asphalt below his perch in the overlook. “Faster…faster…”

“Fuck he’s gonna’ do it!” his little sister Arya screeched, almost tackling him as she launched over the railing of the overlook, landing lightly on her feet and running off towards the track, waving her arms, the arms of her coveralls tied around her waist, loosening and beginning to flap as if she had another set about her.

Their head mechanic, Gendry, jumped in place from his place, laughing and whooping with her as she jumped into his arms. “I told you it would work!”

The sleek carbon-fiber bodied F1 Direwolf with a turbocharged V6 test engine designed by her, with its front and rear wings angled in a new more aerodynamically advantageous design by Gendry, sped by them in a blur of white and gray, blowing off the last rest run by at least twenty seconds.

It was short-lived, the blur of the racecar turning into a solid form as it took another turn, the tires smoking as the driver expertly handled it, speed slowing to control the stop by the time the rear tires blew out, the back of the test vehicle dragging and sending sparks flying as it came to a stop, angled sideways on the track. “Fuck!” Arya cursed, rushing towards the car, reaching to dig her fingers into her hair, groaning as her baby sent smoke flying from the engine. She ignored the shouts of her brother and her boyfriend, shoving her arms into her coveralls—they were fire retardant in case the thing started to catch—climbing onto the body of the car. “No, no, no, what did you do Jon!?”

“What did I do?” her cousin shouted, emerging from the open cockpit of the car, throwing off his helmet and sending dark curls flying about his head. He launched himself out of the driver’s side, unzipping his coveralls and shrugging them off, tying the arms around his waist. His dark gray t-shirt beneath was drenched in sweat and his gray eyes were burning black with irritation. “I didn’t do shit!”

“Jon what the fuck happened?” Robb shouted, hobbling over. He gaped at the damage to the back of the car. “Gods! We’ll never be ready for the next race! We can’t compete with the Lannisters if we can’t shave off another ten seconds on average!”

She studied the damage to the engine while Gendry took stock of the body of the car. She thought she heard Jon complain about the drag—that was Gendry’s area not hers. Until he said he began to feel counter-pressure in the acceleration, the steering locking up on him. “You must not have been controlling the acceleration on the turns,” she complained. She slid off the car, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at her brother and her cousin.

To the untrained and new, she would have been mistaken for Jon’s sister and Robb’s cousin. Especially when she was frustrated, her stance mimicking that of Jon’s, squaring off on him. He slammed his dark brows together. “I’m just the test driver, you want someone to take that thing in the Westerlands Grand Prix in three months, you gotta’ fix the drag and the power output, it’s too strong.” He raked his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes, sighing hard. “And I don’t wanna’ hear it, Robb.”

Her brother had opened his mouth to complain, snapping his jaw shut, glowering at him for a moment before he exploded. “Come on Jon! You’re the best driver I’ve got!”

She sighed; this had been an ongoing battle between them since Robb’s injury a few months before. Robb hadn't always been their driver, but he had been since Jon decided five years before that he was done. Stark Motor Company was known for its dependable vehicles, an industry their family had pioneered. They had long been a wealthy family, since the age of kings, but it was the modern-day Starks who had turned it into something else. Her grandfather moved them into luxury vehicles and his son Brandon—her uncle—decided that Formula One racing was the way to go, using their dependable engines and luxury Direwolf frame car to win a couple of races, but never anything like what Robb had done once he got his eyes set on the prize.

Until that fucking accident.

It was all the Lannisters fault. The other racing team had gunned for him, purposefully slamming into his car and sending it into an explosion. He’d been able to get out with a shattered pelvis, femur, and tibia, along with a massive concussion. The fact that he was walking with a cane months later was a miracle, but he would never race again.

Jon was their test driver—she had never met anyone with as much of a death wish as her adrenaline junkie cousin. He claimed he didn’t go looking for trouble, it just found him. The fact that he willingly stuck himself inside of cars that had never had their engines looked at or went off to Dorne to do stunt driving for movies didn’t seem to encourage belief that he wasn’t looking to die a fiery death. Then again, she supposed her cousin was all kinds of fucked up for other reasons.

Robb sighed hard, glancing at the car and then to her. “Can you get the engine fixed?”

“I’ll work on it,” she said, shoving her hands into her pockets. She scowled at Jon. “Why won’t you race? You clearly know how and fuck, we have enough problems.”

“I told you, I don’t race anymore.”

“Is this because of…” she began, but he glared at her. The sharp wolfish look that warned her to back off, or else his teeth would start gnashing and he’d begin to growl. She wasn’t stupid, knew when to back off. She rolled her eyes, hands up. “Fine, fine.” She sighed, walking away from them, going to help Gendry as he backed the tow up to bring the car in to the garage.

A few hours later, Robb came in, kicking her ankle with his good leg, coming around to stand on the opposite side of the engine as she was bent almost in half over it, finishing up with what she thought needed to be done, while Gendry was in the other garage, whirring away fixing the wings. “Hey,” he called.

She pushed up her welding mask, powering down the torch she was using. “Yeah?” She glanced around, but didn’t see Jon with him. She scowled. “Where’s Grumpy Wolf?”

“Back at the office. I abandoned him to Sansa.”

“Cold.”

“Yeah, well he doesn’t need to hear what I need to tell you.” Robb shifted, the muscles of his forearm tensing as he leaned on his crutch, the cuff around his arm pressing hard into his skin. “Um…so I think I have a driver. Since you know, Grumpy Wolf doesn’t do that anymore, for whatever his dumb reasons.”

“His dumb reasons walked off to Essos and left him with a broken heart,” she laughed, shaking her head and musing over the time when her cousin used to actually smile a bit. She sighed. It was always a woman with men, causing them to get the yips. Jon refused to race professionally anymore after the love of his life left him. She wiped her greasy hands on an equally greasy rag, tossing it aside. “So what do you have to tell me?”

Her direwolf Nymeria looked up from under one of the work benches, whining a bit before she returned to chewing on the already mauled license plate in her paws. Robb pretended to be greatly fascinated in one of the battery chargers on another bench. She scowled; he was avoiding telling her something. “Robb?” she called.

“Um, I made a call.”

“Duh.”

“I called…” he sighed, shifting again. She kicked a chair over to him, but he ignored it. Clearly his leg wasn’t paining him, he just seemed to be nervous. He blew a hard breath, some of the auburn curls dusting over his forehead flying up. “I called Tyrion Lannister.”

That had her almost falling, tripping over Nymeria who jumped up and went running out the open garage door at the end, barking at a squirrel that chanced to run by them. She gulped. “You called…Tyrion?” The last time she heard that name was…she pushed her fingers through her hair, turning to kick at the work bench, sending wrenches and plugs flying. “Godsdamnit Robb!”

“I had to do it!”

“He’s going to kill you!”

“She’s the best driver and she needs a team!”

“What happened to the old one?” she exclaimed, although she already knew. The rich Essosi businessman, the rancher, his dabbling in F1 racing went up when he went bankrupt and then died in a freak riding accident. She’d gone off to Meereen, had done some of the smaller racing circuits. ESCAR, for one, being the first female to race in that, she even won the Dragon’s Bay 500. Although everyone knew her heart lay in F1.

Robb refocused, blue eyes wide. “I came to let you know. She’s flying in tomorrow. Coming up here to do a test, so make sure that engine is good to go, set it in the chassis once Gendry’s done with whatever he’s doing in the body shop.”

“I’ll be here all night!”

“And so you will,” he mocked, swinging his crutch at her, laughing when she flung a spare wrench at him, where it bounced off one of the lifts, skittering away. He hobbled to the door. “Tomorrow!”

Gendry wandered over, looking mighty fine in his greasy coveralls and streaked arms, holding his water bottle in one hand while he mussed with what remained of his hair, which he’d buzzed off the other day because it was getting too shaggy now that summer was upon them. “What’s tomorrow?”

Arya grabbed her face shield, hooking it back over her hair. She rolled her eyes, before slamming it down. Jon was going to have a litter of puppies when he found out what Robb was doing. She probably was a bad cousin, a bad surrogate-sister, but she was looking forward to it—just a bit.

“So what’s happening tomorrow?” Gendry repeated, over the yell of the torch.

He couldn’t hear her, but she could hear herself as she mumbled:

“The apocalypse.”

~/~/~/~

Jon kicked the stand of his bike down, reaching up to unbuckle the black helmet and remove it from his head. It was slightly overcast, not a surprise in the North, but a nice enough day so he’d decided to get the bike out instead of driving over in his truck, despite the fact he had a major haul of parts to bring in from their distributor. He glanced at the unfamiliar red sportscar in the drive, admiring it as he climbed off his bike. He set his helmet on the back, tucking his gloves into it and walked over, eyebrows lifting at the gorgeous creation.

It was a 2019 Dragonlux SLR, he noted, whistling under his breath. “Nice,” he murmured, taking note of the shine to the crimson paint. He felt his fingers itch to get under the hood, to see the pristine turboboost engine he knew it had. It was essentially a racecar for the street. He nibbled his lower lip, shaking his head again. The car was parked haphazardly, but he supposed if you could afford it, you could park however you wanted. Balerion Industries only made five of them per year.

He wondered if perhaps Sansa had purchased a new toy—she had been known to drive cars other than the Stark models, which probably wasn’t good for their CEO to do, but she really didn’t care what anyone thought of her. He jogged up the stairs to the house, letting himself in and wandered through, calling out.

Since no one was there, he made his way through the mansion to the stairs that led to the garage, grabbing one of the golf carts and zooming it off towards the track and the garages tucked far at the edge of the property. He shoved his sunglasses on, ignoring the curls whipping in his face that came from the bun he usually tossed them into at the base of his neck.

He parked the cart at the front of the offices, going in and smiling at Gilly, who ran their accounts for the Stark Racing aspect of the business. “Hey Gilly,” he greeted her. She jumped up quickly, stammering something about going to meet Sam, her husband, and rushed out. He frowned. _Odd._

No matter, he supposed, going into his office and ignoring the blinking light on his phone or the emails that he surely had to check on. He flicked through some invoices, decided to ignore them, and think that today was a nice enough day to fuck around with some of the test engines Arya was working on. He looked over at a brief movement from near his desk, smiling when his direwolf Ghost got up and stretched. “Hey boy, didn’t know you were hiding there.”

Ghost yawned, his red eyes blinking sleep away. He ruffled his wolf’s ears, before he made his way to the locker rooms, changed into his flame-retardant racing coveralls and changed out his boots. He tied back his hair again and grabbed his gloves and helmet, jogging out to the garage.

The sound of an engine spooling around a tight corner, before disappearing down a straight-away greeted him when he entered the garage. He frowned, glancing at one of the other mechanics, Mikken. “What’s going on?” he asked. He scowled. “How come no one told me we had someone else testing today?”

“New driver,” Mikken grunted from under one of the other cars. “Testing I think.”

_New driver?_

Guess Robb got a new one, he figured. He went out, glancing to the track, where the model of their latest car was out, being handled excellently by whomever they had gotten to drive it. Perfect acceleration, deceleration, he noted. Curve handling was incredible. He walked towards the lookout, seeing Gendry and Arya’s gray suited figures at the edge of the track with the pit crew and…he frowned. _Robb?_

Maybe they were done. He wandered over, hands in his pockets, just in time for the car to begin slowing, taking another lap around at a considerably less pace as they braked, bringing the vehicle to a hard stop, tires squealing. He stopped by Robb, just in time to ask. “Who is the driver?”

“Uh…”

Robb did not get a chance to answer, because the driver flung themselves from the car, a tiny little thing, before removing a black helmet emblazoned with…

His eyes widened. “No,” he croaked.

_Red dragons._

The driver turned, silver braids falling from the helmet, which she tucked under her arm as she removed her gloves. She grinned, bright red lips pulling over even white teeth, and her violet eyes glimmering mischievously when she locked them on him. She laughed, high and light, like bells.

He blinked, trying to push the memories out of his mind.

_Falling against a work bench, pushing down her jumpsuit to get to her panties._

_Laughing as they crammed themselves in a two-seater, trying to unbuckle his belt._

_Screaming at each other over something ridiculously stupid, probably he forgot to put the garage door down, before tearing at each other’s clothes._

_Kissing each other in a fit of passion, unable to wait for the words ‘you may now kiss the bride.’_

_More screaming at each other, before falling into a mess of tears, begging each other for forgiveness for things they could no longer remember._

_Her turning and walking away from him, saying she was sorry._

_His signature on the line at the bottom of the paper, ending it for good._

_Announcement he would no longer race. He was done. He didn’t do anything for him anymore._

He stared at her, wanting to run to her, but he didn’t. He clenched his fists at his sides, teeth grit, as anger and rage and passion and need filled him at the sight of her. _Gods, she looks exactly the same. How?_ “What…” he turned to Robb, glaring at him, ripping his sunglasses off. He pointed. “What is she _doing_ here?!”

“Told you he’d have a litter,” Arya mumbled.

Robb cleared his throat, trying to keep the peace. “Jon, I believe you know our new driver…”

“Daenerys Targaryen,” he snapped.

Dany beamed at him again. “Hi Jon, it is so good to see you again.” She stepped towards him, reaching up and grabbing the front of his coveralls, yanking him towards her, and to his shock…

She kissed him.

_Oh fuck_ , he thought, unable to function with her mouth on his again after all this time. It had been five years. He groaned, immediately opening his mouth beneath hers, forgetting where they were, her tongue sliding in immediately to tangle with his. He reached for her, but she let go of him, pushing him backwards before her hand came up. He already knew it was coming, bracing himself, but the crack of her palm over his cheek still had him reeling.

Blood burst in his mouth, likely from the ring she wore on her index finger. He chuckled, turning to spit blood out onto the ground. He laughed, grinning at her, ignoring the stunned looks from his cousins, Gendry, and someone he now realized was Tyrion Lannister hurrying towards them from the lookout, along with one of their managers Davos Seaworth and someone he thought might have been from her team.

Dany sighed hard. “Good, now that that’s how of the way.” She looked to Robb, who gaped at her. “The dragon handles beautifully; you have my services. Tyrion and Barristan will work it out with the contract.” She walked off, waving her hand. “See you later Jon!”

The only thing he could think of was to shout back, storming after her. “It is _not_ a dragon, you fantasy-loving _lunatic_! It is a _car_!”

“Whatever!”

“Jon!” Robb exclaimed, when he made a move to go after her. He paused. He didn’t need to go chasing after Daenerys. Not when it was _Robb._ He turned slowly, glaring at his brother. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on Robb’s suddenly panicked look. He surged towards him, swinging out, wanting to punch his cousin’s dumb annoying expression off, he didn’t even care if he was still recovering from his crash.

“Hey!” Gendry exclaimed, grabbing his arms and yanking him back.

With Gendry to protect him, Robb blew out a hard breath. Jon didn’t care. _I’m going to kill him_ , he thought, focusing all his rage on his cousin. Robb protested, “I had to do it! She is the _best_ driver there is!”

He fumed silently, ignoring his cousin’s words about her skills, abilities, and everything else she was capable of doing for them in the upcoming race. Between their new car and her, they would finally beat the Lannisters, finally get back all they’d lost. He knew it was true, knew that it made sense of course, and better her than anyone else.

But all he could see was red.

And feel her lips on his.

_Seven hells_ , he cursed, turning and stalking towards the garage.

He needed a cold shower.

~/~/~/~

The dragon flew like a dream.

It was courtesy of Gendry’s amazing skills with the wings and the sleek body of the Direwolf and Arya’s finesse with the engineering. So many little perfect parts working seamlessly together to create a gorgeous piece of machinery, which felt like she was in the clouds, soaring over the world and looking down at it below, everyone tiny little dots on the surface.

Or blurs out the window.

She knew they thought she was crazy, referring to the cars as dragons, but she had three of her own. Three gorgeous handcrafted one-of-a-kind cars, each one with its own strengths and weaknesses and use. Her baby was Drogon, her black and red, she had built him from the ground up. She only took him out when she felt like breaking shit—speed records and the like. There was Rhaegal and Viserion, her others, they got to come out and play too, when necessary. Viserion was her gold and Rhaegal an electric green. Sometimes for fun she’d take them around the neighborhood, get a kick out of people’s reactions to seeing the unique cars.

Dany also liked it when men would see her drive up in them, stop at a light, and think they could fuck around with her. They had no idea who they were messing with.

She took the curve hard, knowing she was testing her limits with the new engine, but she wanted to see how fast and how far she could go with it, her hands on the wheel, the entire cockpit vibrating around her. She heard the words of Robb in her ear, coaching her through, knowing he would not be the spotter on the day of the race. That honor belonged to someone else.

_Jon._

She smiled to herself, spinning the wheel on a sharp curve of the track, wondering what the neighbors of the Winterfell estate thought when the crazy children of Lord Ned Stark decided to build a track throughout the property. She accelerated faster, watching the RPM gauge, muttering to herself. “Faster, faster…”

“Dany slow down, we don’t know how hard it can go yet, Arya’s still testing.”

“I got it,” she spoke into her microphone.

“Slow down!” The other voice crackled in her ear and she scowled, going faster just to piss him off. She heard another hiss of the radio system. “Fine, don’t fucking listen to me, you never did anyway.”

“Robb, kindly tell your cousin that the big girls are playing, he can go take his dollies home.”

Another hiss. “I’m not getting involved. Slow down though.”

_Fine._ She edged off, but barely, and made note of how it felt under her seat. The only reason she was doing this was because she was sick of the macho atmosphere in Essos when it came to racing and she needed a team. Once Drogo died, his businesses had gone belly up and the last thing they needed was sponsorship in races, so she’d had to find something else to do. ESCAR sucked, she hated the stock cars, she was bored of the tracks. F1 was the glitz and glamour.

She slowed as she realized the track was coming to an end, bringing her back up to the garage and offices, Robb likely in the lookout tower. She zoomed around a bit on the oval track in front, the one she’d tested on, and came to a stop in front of Robb, Gendry, and Arya. Jon was standing to the side, scowling, although she also wasn’t sure his face hadn’t eventually frozen like that. She unbuckled her helmet, looking out and over at them, grinning. “This thing is amazing.” She caught Jon’s look, eyebrows arching. “I’ve never had anything between my legs that has responded so well to my touch.”

Arya snorted while Gendry turned pink. Robb rolled his eyes. Jon, to her displeasure, smiled long and slow, wearing his stupid aviator glasses over his gray eyes. “Maybe that’s because it’s battery operated.”

She sneered, irritated he’d one-upped her. “The brakes stuck a bit at one point, also I could tell that it wasn’t quite getting the fuel economy it could, we need to look into that.”

“I’ll check,” Arya said.

Dany hopped out, shoving her gloves into her helmet, walking away from the car. She glared at Jon as he began to walk beside her. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she snapped. She gazed at his all black outfit. “Ruling over one of the seven hells, perhaps?”

“You took those turns too fast. You’re going to lose a tire on the Westerlands track if you do that, they are notoriously sharp-edged.”

She unzipped her racing suit, tying the arms around her waist, her tank top underneath soaked with sweat, even though the car was blasting out air at her during the ride. “I’ll let Robb be the one to coach me on my technique, besides I’m good because I have some of the best curve control of all the drivers.”

He pulled his sunglasses off, scowling. “Fine, whatever.”

“Whatever,” she mimicked. She waited a moment and then glanced away, trying not to look at him. It had been five years since they had signed on the dotted line and gave up their marriage. Not that it had been much to write about to begin with. She wondered if the justice of the peace at the courthouse had even been taking bets on how long their marriage would last. Probably didn’t help that they had decided to get married while absolutely shit-faced and high on a race win. “You look good.”

It was not a lie. Five years had been good to him. He seemed taken aback but closed his mouth. He sighed, rather begrudgingly nodding towards her. “You too.”

She wrinkled her nose, tossing her braids over her shoulder, pretending to be aloof. “I know.”

He rolled his eyes and shoved his sunglasses on. “Always an ego.”

“Always muttering under your breath.”

“Never listening to me!”

“Trying to control me!”

“Back at this again!”

“Didn’t think we ever left it!” she shouted, before turning away, too tired to fight with him. They had been sniping at each other every chance they got since she signed the contract with Stark Racing, agreeing to race for them for the next Grand Prix season. It had already hit the media; she had a bit of a reputation, given that her family had been the _Targaryens._ Their dragonglass use in automobiles revolutionized auto design and Balerion Industries was rolling in it. Even though she no longer had affiliation with her family’s company, and it had been sold off piecemeal to pay for her father’s debts, she was the little grease monkey who had gotten into cars instead of playing with dolls because her brother had raised her.

Rhaegar had preferred engineering to crawling around in engines, but he knew his way around one. She had liked hanging out with him while he worked on new designs, asking questions and learning. She was driving before she was dating, and she wanted to _fly_ as she called it. So she did. She became the first female F1 racer in Westeros. 

_And Jon._

_Gods_ , she thought, almost fanning herself, trying not to look over at him as he practically stalked her back towards the main garages. He had been every teenage girl’s dream. Dark, brooding, and with so many issues he could keep a therapist rolling in it for years to come. They had immediately pounced on each other, barely out of their teens, two heirs to massive fortunes with nothing better to do than fuck in the backseat of cars, stay out all night, and get into trouble.

They had fallen hard for each other, fallen fast, and marriage just seemed like a _fun thing to do_ between races. Until it all went to shit. Until she couldn’t do it anymore. So they’d separated, she’d gone to Essos, and then in her grief and pain at the end of one marriage she’d stupidly married again. Divorced once, widowed once, and she wondered if she was ever going to have the opportunity—or if she even wanted it—to try it again. Maybe the third marriage would stick.

For now though, she would ignore him as best as she could.

But gods…she glanced over her shoulder, entering the garage. He smirked in her direction, before he went in the opposite direction, towards the auto-body shop. She rolled her eyes, pushing hard on the door leading to the locker rooms.

_Fuck._

~/~/~/~

The Starks had made something of an art out of their hobby.

The garage on the grounds of the Winterfell estate where they did most of their tinkering and kept the secrets of their car designs was only accessible by the family and a chosen few of their mechanics and engineers. Their factories out west, towards Deepwood Motte, where they manufactured their everyday cars were state-of-the-art, but it was the factory out near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea where the luxury Direwolves were made.

Although this was the only one she had known, spending hours and hours of her life in this very garage. In the hangar-like bays with the fancy tools and the bodies and chassis of racecars. She also spent time in another garage, not far from the main one, attached to a small stone cottage that belonged to the nephew of the Lord of Winterfell, where he lived when he had had enough of the main house, with his crazy cousins. That garage was a pack-rat’s dream. Crammed with odd parts and old tires. Ancient tools and the odds and ends of someone who just liked to play, rather than compete.

Dany shoved her hands into the pockets of her coveralls, having finished a run-through on the track with some tweaks that Arya had made to the fuel injectors. She paused by a wall near the garage doors, studying the images. She smiled, spying a photo hanging on the wall of the first Direwolf model, almost a hundred years before. She glanced at the photo that hung underneath it, a far more recent one.

Jon holding up one of the trophies, almost on the shoulders of Robb and the man she knew was his uncle, who had died several years ago—Ned, she thought fondly. She loved Ned; he had always been kind to her. She should have gone to the funeral, but…she hadn’t wanted to run into Jon. It had been so soon after their… _volatile_ end. She looked at the photo, knowing it quite well. The excitement of the moment, the joy in Jon’s eyes, and the exhaustion too. In one hand he held the trophy and in another a bottle of champagne, his dark curls damp from sweat and the sweet beverage that had drenched them all in celebration. It had been one of the first wins; they had not been in competition for the overall championship, but to win the Northern Grand Prix had been something else. They had been a dark horse, so to speak. The Starks had always been a fascinating house, a fascinating team, with their obsessiveness over the sport but only under the joint interest of the wealthy heir Robb and his strange, quiet cousin Jon, had they actually gained fame.

She knew the moment well, could remember being there. For she knew that among the grinning, celebrating faces captured in the image of the Stark cousins, with Ned and a small Arya in her pit uniform, there was another there, captured forever in time. The figure to the side of Ned, barely visible, with a Stark Racing baseball hat and overlarge sunglasses hiding her violet eyes.

It had been her who encouraged Jon to drive in the race, instead of her. She wanted him to have the moment, should he win. Racing his family’s car on the track through the North. He had won it.

And then a few months later they were done.

“Looking at the past?”

The softly accented voice dragged her from the memories but did not startle her. She had suspected someone had been watching her. It was a small estate, despite its massive size. She glanced sideways to see Robb in the entryway. She quirked her lip up. “I suppose.”

“He hates that photo, wants us to take it down.”

_Naturally._ “He hates most things.”

“Aye, that’s true.” She tried not to look at Robb’s leg, still bound in a brace, and slightly askew when compared to his other one. He leaned hard on the crutch wrapped around his wrist, wincing in pain when he made to move towards her. She made to help him, but he waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. Just some spasms.”

She had been so sorry to hear of his injury. Her emotions rose inside of her, anger on behalf of him, since he did not seem to show it. The _dragon_ as Jon used to call it when they were fighting with each other. “What Jaime Lannister did was fucked up. I cannot believe they did not believe it was not an attack on you.”

“An accident,” Robb muttered.

“Surely you do not think that?”

He chuckled, shaking his head, voice quiet once more. “No, no it was not an accident.” He glanced to the photo, sighing hard. “Those were the days, I guess. Everything seemed to be going right.” He stood carefully, before he lifted his crutch, tapping the image of her in the corner of the frame. “Still wish I knew what happened between you and my cousin. One moment he was married, then he wasn’t. He was racing and then he was willing to throw himself into cars barely tested in the labs.”

_Always did have a death wish._ She crossed her arms over her chest, wrapping tight to comfort herself, not wanting to think of their fighting, their angst, and their ultimate end. It was easier to just be angry with him, for no real reason, than to think of the true reason why they divorced. “Well,” she sighed, turning from the celebratory image to some of the cars in various stages in the garage. She ran her fingers over one. “No good to dwell in the past. This is the present.”

“And I think we’re definitely going to do well this season.”

“I hope so.” She grinned, thinking of the cut she would get of each win. Money was not why she drove, why she raced, for she had plenty of it. All of her inheritance from her father, mother, Rhaegar, and her brother’s deaths plus her own income from racing, from the company…it was enough to get her a new Dragonlux vehicle every single year. She flicked her gloves towards Robb, teasing. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Robb chuckled. “I’ll let you get cleaned up. If you want, all the Starks are having Friday night dinner, we do it every evening, if you want to join.”

“I think I will skip but thank you for the offer.”

He waited a moment, tongue running over his teeth, before his eyebrows lifted. “He doesn’t usually come, if you catch my drift.”

It was not subtle. She stiffened, before pushing away from one of the cars, walking towards the door to the locker rooms. “Thanks, but…I’ll be back in my hotel in Winter Town.” She really did need to think of finding more permanent lodgings than the suite at the only nice hotel in the small town nearest the Winterfell estate, since it was not possible for her to fly back and forth between her estate on Dragonstone and the North, even on her private jet.

Robb acknowledged her, barely a tilt of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Once she finished cleaning up, she grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and leaving the garage, walking over towards her _baby_. All three of her cars had been brought up, housed in the garages at Winterfell. She brought Rhaegal out that morning, after driving Viserion for a few days. She hopped into the bright green car, a Dragonlux model of course, and waited before she sped out, seeing a black dot making its way up the drive towards the parking lot.

The bike came to a stop beside her. She ignored the pressure building between her legs, her thighs clenching at the sight of him in his black leather jacket, his too tight jeans, and beat-up boots. _Does he do this on purpose?_ , she wondered, watching him take his helmet off, shaking his hair out. He glanced over at her, eyebrow lifting. He licked his lips—they were too soft and sweet for their own good. He stepped off the bike, sidling towards her. “Daenerys,” he drawled.

“Jon,” she clipped.

He scanned Rhaegal up and down, his licking his lips again. He touched the hood, where she had a bronze racing stripe painted. “Who is this lovely being?” he murmured, clearly in awe. Then again, he always had loved playing with the toys over driving them.

“Rhaegal.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled. She could see his fingers itching to get into the engine, to see what she’d done. He nibbled those plump pink lips of his. She sighed hard, glancing at him again. She was going to hate herself for doing this. He would say no, she hoped, swishing her lips around.

She pressed the ignition button, the engine almost silent, before gesturing to him. “Get in.”

He froze. “Huh?”

“Get. In.” She glared at him over the top of her sunglasses, teeth grit. “Before I change my mind.”

That actually brought a smile to his sinful mouth; _oh that mouth_ , for it could do so many lovely things. The memories were flooding her mind and she hated herself for them. His tongue dancing along her thighs, drinking from her, swirling around the little bundle of nerves between her legs, fucking her so well that sometimes she would be satisfied just from his mouth on her, content to lay there all liquid and boneless limbs. It was the first way he had ever brought her to orgasm, when they were stupid, young, and sixteen, fumbling around with each other’s awkward bodies, experimenting in ways before they grew bolder and eventually escaped in one of the test cars, crawling into the backseat, becoming what they thought that the time meant man and woman, but later learning that it was just another way to become one heart—they were already in love, they just found a way to use their bodies to show it to each other.

She tried not to think of it, of their history and their ability to drive each other mad with desire—they were so good at that, it was never the issue—saying nothing to him when he hopped into the passenger seat. There were no doors on the car, she didn’t think they were necessary.

“Hold on,” she grinned, one arm slung over the side of the car and another loose on the steering wheel, before she slammed a foot on the accelerator, Rhaegal’s tires squealing on the pavement before shooting like a rock from a slingshot down the drive.

They drove like lunatics, spinning around the estate’s roads and out onto the main ones beyond its gates, taking turns too fast and behaving entirely too recklessly. They returned to the estate’s grounds through one of the back gates, whipping around its narrow curves and roads, testing Rhaegal’s capabilities. He laughed, screamed, and whooped just like her; both of them crazed on adrenaline.

It was always the adrenaline.

Sometimes she wondered if that’s all it had been between them, until she remembered the times where they lay together in each other’s arms for hours. Smiling and dopey and young and drunk on love. Running off to get married the moment they could, racing in cars of all types, and jumping on the back of his motorcycle to ride through the provinces for months on end, sustained only by their need for each other.

And then it ended.

Well, it didn't _just_ end. Her heart cramped, not wanting to think about it. She had done pretty well not thinking about... _her._ She swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away, focusing on the car. That was all she could focus on right then anyway.

She brought the car to a stop, back at the garage. He climbed out, leaning his arms over the side and grinning at her. “Thanks for the ride.”

There was something in his voice she hoped was… _desire_? _Maybe?_ She smiled, pushing her sunglasses up to her forehead. “Any time.”

“Next time I drive.”

That had her brows slamming together. “No one flies my dragons but me.”

He winked; he could never do it properly, the dumb wolf, it was more like a blink. She smiled, even when she should have been irritated. Just another one of those _Jon_ characteristics that had her falling in love with him in the first place. “We’ll see about that,” he drawled, before pushing away from the car. He seemed to remember that they hated each other, the smile on his face fading to a slight frown. He sighed. “Goodbye Daenerys.”

_Daenerys_ , not _Dany_.

She scowled, sunglasses dropping. “Whatever.” She jerked the gearshift and flew off, leaving him in a cloud of dust.

~/~/~/~

Jon didn’t know what brought him to the Stark cemetery.

He supposed it was all the feelings that had been dragged up with the return of Dany. In an attempt to distance himself from her, he only referred to her as _Daenerys._ It did what he wanted, irritating her while at the same time keeping her at an arm’s reach. She said nothing of it, barely even speaking to him.

Most days he could go without seeing her, keeping to himself, traveling out to White Harbor, to the factories, to oversee the production of the Direwolf, and test new models. He would ride back, in time usually to see her taking the cars out for another run. She left her beautiful _babies_ as she referred to them, at the Winterfell estate, and he sneaked down sometimes to inspect them.

Dany escaped from time to time back down south, to deal with her business, but she returned, now tied by contact to Stark Racing. They announced it in a press conference, at one of the major F1 events, held at Highgarden in the Reach. Robb was excited, unable to keep it to himself he had snagged Daenerys Targaryen, the dragon herself, to race that season.

Arya had kicked him out of the garage earlier; it was raining and he couldn’t ride his bike or get into some of the other test vehicles and he was itching to do _something_. She said he was bothering her and to get out before she ran him through with her drill. He left, wandering in the rain, hands in pockets, until he came upon the cemetery.

Starks were so damn wealthy they had their own graveyard. There were crypts beneath the old part of the Winterfell castle, but only within the last one hundred years had they actually buried their family in the grounds outside the old ruins of the castle. He stopped to pay respects to his uncle, buried beside his brother and father. He studied the spot for his uncle Benjen, where he’d be buried one day. Benjen was a ranger in the far North, uninterested in anything to do with the family businesses.

He slipped over to the tall statue of a woman, with a wolf curled at her feet, and knelt, plucking at some weeds, before he smoothed his hand over the stone. “Hi Mom,” he murmured, thumb brushing over Lyanna Stark’s epitaph. _Daughter, Sister, Mother, Forever Young, Running With the Wolves_

He stood, bowing his head briefly, and then glanced towards the small granite headstone beyond his mother’s. His heart hurt. He let his feet take him, not thinking, until he stood over it, staring at the engraving. He knelt again, until he fell back, arms draped over his knees. _When was the last time he was here?_

There were flowers at the foot of the stone, blue winter roses. He smiled, leaning over and dragged his thumb across the etching. A wolf cub and a dragon hatchling, encircling each other, almost like an infinity symbol. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, whispering. “Hi Rhaena,” he murmured. He cocked his head, eyebrows lifting. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited in some time.” He touched the roses again. They were fresh, probably placed within the last couple of days. His heart ached some more, clenching and un-clenching, pain radiating throughout his body. “I see your mother has been to visit.”

He had long buried the memory of that horrid day. They day when the car crashed, an inferno, and he’d thought he would die. He had woken up in a hospital, with only a broken arm. Except his wife was not with him. He expected her to be; she had been at the track, had she not? He thought she had kissed him good luck, before he climbed into the car, to take off down the track. Except he had been going too fast, had been too reckless. Too arrogant. The car crashed and the gas caught; he had been lucky to get out like he did. _So where was Dany?_

Robb told him, with Arya on the bed with him, holding his hand, keeping him from jumping up and running out. The stress, the nerves, she had gone into labor early. It turned out she had been hiding it from him, hiding the bleeding that had begun the previous evening, wanting him to race instead of canceling, she hadn’t thought anything of it…until it was too late. The baby had to be delivered, but to their horror she was already gone. The cord had wrapped around her neck at some point between the last doctor’s appointment and that moment.

They buried their daughter and then a couple of months later the fighting had been too intense, too much. They both blamed each other. And themselves. She’d left, gone to Essos. The papers arrived not soon after. He signed, sent them to her, and then got a notice in the mail that he was divorced at the tender age of twenty-two.

And he never raced again.

The rain had lessened to a drizzle, chilling into his bones. He smiled at the stone again. “I’ve been working on an old Direwolf. One of the first versions of the luxury model…getting parts hasn’t been easy. When I’m done, I’m going to name it after you.” It was kind of his hobby. Sitting away in his garage, never fully completing it. Then it would never have to come to pass. He sighed hard. “Arya and Gendry still aren’t married yet, everyone is taking bets on when she just has enough and marches him to the courthouse.” He thought of Robb. “Robb is fine. Getting back into the swing of things. I think it’s good he has Talisa. She takes care of him.” There was Bran in school down at King’s Landing. Rickon was still too young, lived with Catelyn at Riverrun, with her family. He rolled his eyes at the thought of irritating Sansa. “Your aunt is still CEO, still a constant pain in our arses. No one wants to deal with the business, she makes it seem like we’re forgoing our duty, choosing to play with cars like _little boys_ I think were her last words.”

He told her about the upcoming season. The cars they were working on, making changes and revisions, depending on how the test runs went. He eventually found himself just leaning against the stone, silent, letting the rain drip over him.

Gods knew how many hours passed. He was going to catch pneumonia. He stood, kissed his fingers, and dropped them to the headstone. “I’ll be back soon,” he vowed. He left, hands in pockets again, and returned to the house.

In his old room, he changed into dry clothing, and then left, deciding he didn’t give a shit about the rain and climbed onto his bike, slamming the visor of his helmet down. He knew it was dangerous, but he didn’t live far, his cottage up in the northernmost part of the estate hidden away in the Wolfswood. He left, the rain splashing on his visor and blurring his vision, but he knew these roads better than the back of his own hand.

It took longer than it usually did. He parked the bike in his garage, attached to the cottage, and went inside. Ghost was sleeping in front of the dying fire in the grate. The albino wolf barely rolled his red eyes towards him before turning away, towards the embers, and yawned, returning to sleep. He chuckled, shucking off his wet clothes, making his way towards his bedroom.

He decided to play in the workshop for a bit; he did enjoy doing that when it stormed. He put on old jeans and a grease-stained t-shirt, before whistling for Ghost. The wolf hopped up, trotting after him through the laundry room and into the garage. His Range Rover and bike were in one half, while everything else was in the other. He had the Dirwolf he was working on as well as a classic Balerion model, one of the first sportscars they’d made, called the Vermithor.

He flicked his phone to a playlist, shoving it in the dock of the speakers, letting it blast out, not that he could hear much of the head-pounding rock over the sound of various power tools and the clanging of parts. Ghost fell into a white pile on the giant pillow kept beneath one of the tool-benches, an old rubber toy in his paws, his teeth gnawing angrily on it. Jon chuckled, calling out to his wolf. “I’m not getting you another when you destroy that one, so go easy.”

Ghost whined, shaking his head, almost smiling, before returning to his toy. Jon smiled, reaching for a socket wrench and twirled it around on his index finger, before he decided to get to work. He liked playing with the engines, messing around more than actually building. Arya always hated coming over to the cottage, because she couldn’t stand how he just let things sit around, rather than putting them together to make an efficient machine.

He had a dual degree in mechanical and chemical engineering from Oldtown University, one of the most prestigious in all of Westeros, which he tended to throw into Arya’s face when she tried to argue he didn’t know anything about machines. He whistled under his breath while he dug his hands in the engine, pulling on hoses, wires, and plugs, rearranging and figuring the best away they should be. He installed new parts, adding and taking, in something akin to a _happy place._

In fact, he was so involved he hadn’t heard the door opening, or footsteps on the concrete floor. He didn’t even realize that there was someone else until a hand gently touched his shoulder.

“Fuck!” he screamed, hands flying out, waving madly at whatever or whoever had interrupted and startled him. He fell backwards against the car, hands gripping the engine. He gaped, seeing the last person he ever expected to see in his garage. He frowned, pushing away. “Fuck are you doing here?”

Dany stood awkwardly beside the car. She was soaking wet, her silver hair in tangled ropes around her shoulders. She shifted, her boots squelching, puddles dripping around her. “Ah…I got stuck in the rain. I was in Drogon…” She closed her mouth, eyes snapping shut at the same time, and her thumb hitching backwards towards the door. “Took a turn too fast, spun off the road. Blew a tire.” She sighed hard, rolling her eyes then. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He literally was about to open his mouth to chide her; she always drove too fucking fast in the rain. He sighed, too tired to fight. “Fuck. You okay?”

“I controlled the blow out, realized I was near you. It’s about half a mile down the road.”

He looked out the window, cringing. It was coming down really bad. As if to punctuate the moment, a clap of thunder shook the garage, a bolt of lightning breaking across the sky. “You aren’t going anywhere now I guess.” He rolled his eyes sideways. She was absolutely _soaked_ and beginning to shiver. He tossed down a rag and his wrench, gesturing for her to follow. Might as well play host.

Ghost jumped to his feet, dancing around her, the mute wolf making the tiny little gasps in the back of his throat that constituted his barks. She grinned, leaning over and hugging him, not caring about the cloud of white fur blowing up and over her, sticking to her wet clothes and skin. “Oh my sweet boy, I missed you.”

“He’s always been here,” he mumbled.

She ignored him, scratching at Ghost as she followed him into the house. He went upstairs, to his room, unsure if she followed him or if she stayed downstairs with the wolf. He rummaged in drawers, taking out a worn Stark Racing t-shirt. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and slipped his hand into the far back of one of the bottom drawers of the wardrobe he never used. He closed his hand around the first thing he could, a pair of black yoga leggings, one of the few items of clothing she’d left behind. He could not bring to throw out anything she’d left, as much as he had wanted to burn everything that had her name, scent, or touch upon it.

_Gods damnit, he was still in love with her._

It was why it hurt so fucking much. He shoved the drawer shut, turning, only to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He dropped the clothes on the edge of his bed, gesturing to the bathroom door. “You know where everything is. I’ll be in the garage.”

He brushed by her, leaving her to clean up, and returned to the garage. He picked up a box, with some of the parts he’d located for the car, reaching in, but unsure what exactly he was doing. He felt fuzzy, confused, and torn between anger and want and sadness. “Fuck,” he cursed, throwing one of the parts back into the box, turning away from it. He glared out the window, as another bolt of lightning separated the sky into two.

And kind of wished he was at the end of that bolt.

~/~/~/~


	2. stomping the clutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon reconnect in more ways than one; Jon confronts Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, this should have been one chapter, then two, and now apparently it is three. Darn. Oh well.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dany sat on one of the stools by the work bench, spinning idly and watching Jon work on the engine. She ignored the pulse between her legs, ignored the way his biceps tensed and bunched as he worked the tools over the bolts and screws. She ignored the sweat that ran down his neck, the veins that coiled along his hands, or the smudges of grease on his forehead and arms. He hopped up onto the fender, leaning deeper into the block, his arm disappearing as he reached to attach a hose.

She took a deep breath, frustrated with herself. Frustrated she had been driving too fast in the rain, reckless as usual, perhaps having the same death wish as Jon. It had been her emotions getting the better of her. All she intended to do was go to the cemetery, to replace the roses at Rhaena’s grave, when she saw him sitting there, laughing and talking to their daughter as if she were in his arms.

_She would be five._

It angered her; all that they had lost. The cruelty of the world. So she’d stormed off from the cemetery, jumped into Drogon, and took off to blow her sorrows in chancing death. Served her right; universe could have killed her but chose to just have her spin out and hike in the rain to find the one man she wished she could never see again. It should have surprised her that he had some of her clothes left, but then again, Jon had never been very good at getting over his feelings. He just liked to bury them deep inside that bottomless heart of his.

She couldn’t look at him anymore. The rain had not let up; if anything it was getting worse. The space heater in the corner of the garage was piping the space filled with warmth, but she was plenty warm. She wondered where Ghost went. That wolf always had the uncanny ability to know when to disappear. She didn’t like that he thought now he should. “Where’s your creeper?” she wondered, getting up and searching for the cart to shove her beneath the car’s body. She’d work on the fuel tank, if she was just going to sit here. Might as well do something. _Idle hands and what not_.

He nodded to a corner, piled with junk. She rolled her eyes. _Gods, this is really bad._ She was fairly certain he had at least fifty different size tires all stacked up, plus ancient car parts and tools. Jon’s packrat and hoarding tendencies probably had to do with his inability to let go of anything emotionally. Or so a shrink she’d visited in those days after the divorce and everything had her believe. She found the creeper, kicking it towards her before flopping down onto it. She picked up a headlamp, affixed it around the crown of her head, and scooted beneath the car.

They worked in silence.

She had no idea what he was doing to this poor vehicle; the hoses were all kinds of fucked up, she growled, wrenching a rusted part from the undercarriage of the once sleek sportscar. It was as if he had been purposefully messing up things to delay finishing this thing. _Maybe he was_ , she thought. She remembered when he’d come across it, rusting away in a junkyard down in Dorne. They’d dragged the thing back to the garage and had worked on it together. It was somewhat comforting to know he hadn’t finished, she guessed.

She grunted when the wrench stuck, drawing her knee up and planting her foot on the concrete floor for extra leverage. “Gods Jon! This is as knotted up as your head.”

“Fuck you,” came a goodnatured call from the front of the car.

It actually had her smiling. They always disagreed on how best to fix things. She had a more methodical approach, whereas he tended to just kind of go as he went. Jon had a shrewd mind for the business of the team, for how things ran, but he really wanted nothing to do with it if he could just play. She was the one who was leading them, who was challenging and demanding, and who went step by step, seeing all sides. Unless of course she got angry.

Then all the seven hells broke loose.

It was probably why they would never have lasted, even if Rhaena had survived. They were sometimes too alike for their own good. They were emotional, volatile, and while Jon could sit silently and stew, he had a temper that rivaled only hers when he finally unleashed it. The wolf, she thought for a moment, before returning to her work. She puttered away, scooting out now and then to switch out her tools.

The storm raged outside, sometimes thunder shaking the very foundation of the garage. She hummed absentmindedly, while Jon worked silently. They never could agree on how best to work. Jon liked music pumping from speakers, but if she started singing along or humming, he grew irritated. Sure enough, not long after she started, he clanged something on the side of the car. “Shut up, I can’t think.”

“Fuck you,” was her turn to call.

Somewhere she thought she heard him chuckle.

After a couple of hours, she eventually slid out from under the car. She felt as though someone was watching her. A cool pebbling of her skin and fuzzy feeling in her brain. She stared up at him. _How long had he been there?_ He was looking down at her, leaning against the bumper. They said nothing, but then again, they never really needed to talk. Talking wasn’t their thing. It was emotions and love and anger and hatred. All of it bottling up and exploding forth when they could no longer stand it.

_Is that what was happening now?_ , she wondered, slowly moving the tools from where they had been resting on her chest as she used them under the carriage of the vehicle. They fell to the side, skittering off, and she kept her hands at her sides. Waiting for him to make the first move, even if it would kill her.

She let her legs fall open on either side; she wore nothing under the old yoga pants and the t-shirt was sticking to her from sweat and grease and oil. The white shirt he wore was equally stained, damp and tight across his broad shoulders. She saw his chest muscles flex, quivering under the fabric. _Gods_ , she thought, her lips parting, a soft gasp escaping when he suddenly lifted his foot, the boot locking on the cart and dragging her even farther out.

In one sweep of his arms, he had her off the floor and pressed to the body of the car, caged against his body with arms on either side of her, and her back curved over the edge, breasts straining against his chest. She had no idea what was happening, her mind clouding with dangerous excitement, the adrenaline she felt when she was in the cockpit of a racecar the only thing closest to what she felt with his gray eyes, now black as motor oil, locked onto hers.

A finger came up to her hairline, casually flicking a silver curl behind her ear. She lifted her brows, her lips pursing. Challenging him, as she always did, her tongue darting out to lick her upper lip. He glanced at it, if anything, eyes darkening further. “What are you waiting for?” she murmured. One of his arms had pinned hers to her side, but her other was a bit looser, and she tugged it free, reaching to curl her fingers into the neckline of his t-shirt, pulling it and as a result—him—towards her. She flicked her tongue against his lower lip, teasing his out, where she flicked at it again. He drew a sharp intake of breath. She smiled, loving how she could do this to him. She could have him on his knees in a moment, if she wanted; he liked to think he was in control over her, that he could dominate her, but that was the funny thing. It was because she let him.

Jon was hers and she was his, and it would never be anything different, she thought, growling as she slammed her mouth, hot and open, over his. It wrenched a growl of his own from him, igniting the spark that had been hissing between them for the last month or so until it was a fucking inferno, blowing apart the garage and consuming them within it.

He tore her shirt straight down the center from the neck, not even bothering to take it off before his mouth latched to her neck, blazing an open, wet path over her chest and to her breasts. She moaned, a hand tangling in his curls and another reaching to pull at his shoulder. “Get this off,” she whimpered, cradling him between her thighs.

“Fuck, not yet.”

“No, now!”

He silenced her with another bruising kiss, his thumbs branding the undersides of her knees as he drew them up with a powerful rock of his hips against hers. She groaned, feeling his desire against her, wanting it inside of her immediately; she was so wet, she knew she took take him completely right then and there against the side of the car. He had other ideas; she was displeased to find. She scrambled for purchase, trying to get her heels steady on the bumper, but only Jon held her in place with his hands as he pulled her pants down with one pull, before locking them on her hips, lowering his mouth to the blazing heat between her thighs.

She sobbed the second his lips closed over her, her abdominals clenching and seizing, assisting her as she somehow maintained balance. A foot hooked over his shoulder, digging in as he fucked her with his tongue, which had taken several long, languid swipes over her before settling inside. One hand kept her thigh open and the other slipped underneath, a finger joining in with his tongue, the dueling sensations tearing sobs from her. He moved up, nibbling at her sensitive clit, before pressing the flat of his tongue against the slick little bud. “Oh fuck!” she sobbed. _How have I possibly forgotten this?_

He chuckled against her, the rumbling sensation through her only encouraging another gush of wetness from her body and into his mouth. His gray eyes lifted to meet hers. “Hmm, seems I’ve made you speechless,” he mumbled.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her thighs quivering as she tried to keep balance, but it was too difficult to have any sort of control right now. It was beginning to be too much, the pressure in the base of her spine and coiling in her belly reaching unbearable levels. She bucked her hips to his mouth, fingers digging into his scalp, forcing him back onto her. High whines were the only sounds she could make, as he kept up his sinful talents. She had no idea any longer if he was using his tongue, his lips, or his fingers. It was just a little bit of everything.

He pulled back just enough, blowing a cool stream of breath on her clit and that was all it took, the sudden change in sensation causing her body to let go completely, the pleasure washing over her. He laughed, which pissed her off, and kept it up, swiping his tongue over her again and then standing, his fingers quickening. “No,” she begged, unable to bear it, shaking in his arms from the power of the orgasm, not ready for another, but he had other ideas, his hand moving furiously over her, fingers sliding and gathering, circling her clit with his thumb.

“Come on,” he ordered, latching his mouth to hers. She groaned, tasting the salty musk of herself on his tongue. It only served to make her wetter and he knew it. He grinned. “Come for me Dany, there you go…”

The second orgasm so fast after the first had her collapsing against him, no longer capable of controlling her body, which had fucking _betrayed_ her, so needy for his touch. _For him._

A thunderclap rattled the windows, the lights flickering. She rolled her eyes up, barely registering what was happening around her, until she collapsed against him, sweaty and exhausted. His hand was still trapped between her legs, which had seized around him, not letting go. “Fuck,” she mumbled, lips managing to trace along his neck, her tongue lapping at the sweat beading on his skin.

It was entirely unfair that he was still clothed, which needed to be rectified—immediately. She reached for his belt, but he was already tugging at it. “Now,” she cried, sliding off the car, standing there naked while he silently agreed, tearing his t-shirt off and tossing it aside. She pushed her hands through the waistband of his boxers, groaning at the same time as him when she wrapped her fist around the thick length of him, her mouth latching on to his throat, sucking at his pulse, which only hastened beneath her lips.

She grinned, moving her mouth to his jaw and over to his, their tongues snaking to duel with each other. He let go of her hand, which was still stroking him, not that he needed any more coaxing; he was hard as iron. He lifted her under her bottom, her legs wrapping around his hips, walking her around the side of the car. He kept one arm around her and with the other, he reached and slammed the hood of the classic car down, stretching her back over it.

Dany twisted under him, letting go long enough for him to help her, his fingers tangling in hers as he crowded her against the car hood. She could see their reflection in the windshield, their eyes locking on each other’s. He kissed behind her ear, his nose nuzzling her hair aside. She barely nodded, giving him consent, her eyes closing and a whimper escaping when he notched himself at her opening, the denim of his jeans, which now hung over his hips rough against her soft skin.

It was wicked, she thought, feeling like this. Doing this with him. She turned her face, his lips meeting hers again and their hands tight together, pressed hard against the fiberglass hood. She gasped, stretching around him, one hand managing to get underneath her, fingers trembling as she stroked him while he pushed into her, slippery around his length. He groaned, nipping her lower lip. She bit harder, encouraging him. She wasn’t delicate; yes, it had been a long time and there was only a slight pinch of delightful pain when he eventually pushed in entirely.

They stilled, her eyelids flickering, just opening enough to see him again, at the furrow of his brow, tension in his neck, forcing himself to remain slow and steady. “No,” she murmured, shaking her head, squeezing his hand again. She reached his other hand from where he gripped her hip, pulling it between her legs again. She nodded, whispering. “Hard. Fast. Don’t be gentle.”

He licked at her earlobe, whispering. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she gasped, rocking back against him, moaning at the feeling. He fit so perfectly inside of her, he always had. Every inch of him stretched her deliciously, stroked her just so, and hit the ridge inside of her that caused everything to explode, like tiny firecrackers behind her eyes. It was like a little death, in a way, her heart stopping and throat closing as pleasure consumed her.

He reached his hand from where he’d been lightly stroking her clit while he slide slowly behind her, dancing his fingertips over her belly and teasing her nipples, before he closed them around her neck, kissing her cheek. “We always were good at this, huh?” he murmured, kissing her again.

She replied by biting at his tongue, earning a laugh as he began to fuck her harder, pressing her against the hood of the car, trapping her body. She sobbed out, unable to take it, but she couldn’t, not yet…not…she lifted her head again and squeezed his hand. He withdrew, just enough, before spinning her around, jerking her thighs towards him and hooking one of her legs over his elbow, opening her even farther, the angle shift rending another choking cry from her lips.

They fucked like they were the last two people on earth, as if they would never have an opportunity to again. She tried to hold off, clenching around him, wanting it to last forever, but she knew he didn’t have much left in him, it had been too long for them both, she suspected. She lurched forward, hands around his neck and forehead pressing hard to his, gasping into his mouth. “Yes, yes, now, now Jon.”

He kissed her, messy, their teeth gnashing together as he pressed her hard into the hood of the car, unable to hold off, and she lifted her hips, thrusting against him wildly, her free leg hooking around his hip, her heel digging into his ass as his hips stuttered against hers, body tensing as he came. He cried out, harshly, against her shoulder, and the flood of him inside of her, warm and filling, the way he ground his pelvis against her clit, triggered her and she clenched around him, squeezing and gripping, allowing those tiny fireworks and little deaths to take her completely.

Gods knew how long they remained slumped on the hood of the car. They were sealed together by sweat, his seed, and her juices, their arms and legs tangled in a heap. She had no idea what was happening when she felt him move her from the car, still clutching her. He pulled out gently, the loss of him bringing about that empty feeling, like she was missing a piece of herself. She held onto him, kissing lightly on his neck.

Her eyes remained closed, until she felt softness under her and opened her eyes enough to see that they were in his room… _their room._ She heard him move about, until he slid into the bed beside her, pulling her back against him, and she realized he’d removed the rest of his clothes. She turned around, against him, sharing another soft kiss, smiling. “We’re filthy,” she laughed.

He smiled, gray eyes twinkling. “Too tired to stand.”

“Hmm, yes,” she whispered, arms wrapping around his neck as he rolled her to her back, trailing soft kisses over her cheeks. She cradled him to her, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. She sighed, exhaling the breath she had been holding, drifting away, with him in her arms.

A few hours later, she woke to a start, before slamming her eyes shut, praying that when she opened them it was not all a dream. So she did, carefully, and the first thing she saw was his sleeping face, his hand entwined in hers on the pillow beside them. She did not realize the relief she felt, until she realized there was a tear trickling down her cheek. She swallowed hard, pushing lightly at the arm that draped over her, rousing him. He blinked, sleepily, and yawned. She crawled over him, kissing him quickly and slapped at his fine ass. “Come on, we need a shower.”

“Hmm, didn’t have to wake me up.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she teased, giving him a few pumps, just to get the blood flowing. It certainly worked, and he jumped to his feet, chasing her into the bathroom, laughing as she squealed, leaping up into his arms as the hot spray hit them, drowning them in it as they sank back into each other.

~/~/~/~

At some point Jon was fairly certain he was dreaming.

He was dreaming that Dany was back in bed with him again. That they’d blown each other apart in the garage before moving into the bedroom, falling into a tangled pile, succumbing to dreamless sleep. Until he woke to her little hand on him, before they had each other in the shower, at least twice if he was not mistaken, first with her mouth on him and then with her pressed to the tile wall, writhing beneath him.

The shower had done just enough to clean them of the sweat and grime from the cars and garage, but then they’d returned to the bed, where they’d pretended like they were as they used to be, he thought. After five years, after all the pain and distress they’d caused each other, it was bound to explode into what it had been, but then there was the love too. Or at least, in his case, he knew he felt love.

He swallowed her sighs as he kissed her, his hand holding her face as they moved slowly together, his other hand holding onto her hip as they both rolled against each other, not a breath between them. She ran her fingers over his side, over the many scars that marred his skin, and folded over his heart, tightening as she cried out, her release seizing her. She tightened around him, her mouth breaking from his to find the pulse in his neck, as she often did when she finished. He smiled slightly, but not for long, as she continued to rock against him, seeing him through as the pulse in the base of his spine eventually released, coursing through him as he held her tight to him.

_It was a dream, it had to be a dream._

She nuzzled his jaw, her head tucked up under it. “I must say, this is not what I expected when I came here this evening.”

“Hmm,” he chuckled, hooking her thigh higher over his, sheets tangled around their bodies. He stared into her eyes, trying to see if he could see a difference from the last time they’d lain like this. _When was that?_ He thought perhaps it was _before_. Maybe like this, but for sure _after_. They had thought sex would help them with the grieving process, but ultimately discovered it just made them feel worse. Then they’d devolved into just fighting all the time. Until even that did nothing. Then she was gone.

The violet had flecks of gold, just around her pupils. No one could tell, unless they were in his position, just a breath from her. He dropped a kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes. He did not want to get up. “Storm’s passing,” he mumbled. The thunder and lightning at stopped, the rain had lessened. Soon the sun would rise, and they would need to go find Drogon. Return to how things were… _before._

She dragged her finger on his collarbone, before dragging it over his sternum and then to the side, lifting slightly so she could angle herself over his chest, circling the tattoo inked on his fifth rib, closest to his heart. It was Valyrian, scripted along the rib. She murmured, reading it. “ _Issa jorrāelagon, issa prūmia, va moriot._ ” There was a dragon, underneath the writing, as though it were carrying it along. A red dragon, with an ‘R’, curling from its tail.

His hand dragged over to her side, to the dragon she had as well. “My love, my heart, always,” he translated. Except there was also a wolf, white with red eyes. He turned to face her, taking her left hand, thumb running over the white infinity knot inked there. It was difficult to see; her skin was already so pale. She smiled, tangling their hands, and rubbing her thumb on his left ring finger, where the same white infinity symbol was also inked.

“We were so young,” she said.

He quirked his lip up. “Too young.”

“We had no business…getting married.” She hesitated, her brow wrinkling and eyes shining. “Even having a baby. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

“Aye.”

That was a lie. They didn’t have any idea what they were doing, but they would figure it out together. He blew out a hard breath. There were so many misunderstandings between them. She thought he’d done things that he hadn’t. He had been so angry that he’d caused the miscarriage with his crash. Then she’d run away. Because she wouldn’t listen.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop thinking.” It was an order. An order he intended to follow, as she slid up and over him again, her nails curving red crescents into his hips as she lifted herself up, notching him against her and sliding hard over and down atop him, eyes rolling back into her head and mouth falling open in a gasp.

It was like entering pure fire, he thought, back arching off the bed. He reached around, hands gripping her arse, soft and plump. He lightly smacked it, grinning at her surprised—and turned on—expression. “I missed this.”

“Me too,” she groaned. She whimpered, a hand pressing over his heart and the other going to join his fingers at her hip, speeding her movements as she rolled against him. She tossed her hair back, the long silver strands tickling at his legs. Then her wide violet eyes opened, locking onto his, and he wasn’t sure who came first, just that he was drowning. Entirely in her.

~/~/~/~

They fucked for the better part of three days. She wasn’t sure if anyone was even trying to call her, because she couldn’t find her phone. It was in the car, she realized, when the storm finally passed, and they finally managed to drag themselves from whatever surface they’d collapsed upon.

“We should go get Drogon,” Jon had finally said, when the rainstorm had faded into relatively sunny skies. He called the garage, had Gendry bring the flatbed to where she’d went off the road.

They brought Drogon to the garage, Jon replacing the tire, and cleaning up her favorite dragon. She treated him to a drive, taking off through the lands of Winterfell and eventually finding their way to a set of waterfalls where they used to escape as teenagers. They lay out on the hood, not speaking. There was no need to speak, she thought.

Actually there really was.

She returned to training, flew back and forth, did interviews and occasionally photoshoots as she prepared for the race. When they crossed paths, she and Jon did what they did best. Yet they never spoke about…anything. She left him one morning, going for a run, and found her feet had taken her to the cemetery.

She stopped at Rhaena’s gravestone, kneeling and touching the image on it, whispering to her daughter. “Momma’s here,” she murmured. She let her hand fall to the side, staring at the name in script on the granite. Rhaena Snow. Too little to survive, even if she had not already died.

The pain had been excruciating. It had started the night before, but she just thought it was her normal backaches. Until the day of the race, when she’d seen Jon’s car crash. It had been awful, one of the worst she had seen. Another had tried to pass him, but had gone too close, the wind had been just right, and the track just slick enough. The car had flipped, gone clear airborne, and at the rate of speed and angle, had flipped several times, before landing in a tangled mass of metal.

She had screamed, been in one of the luxury boxes with the other Starks instead of in the booths with the other team members, doing the spotting, like she had always done for Jon. Then he’d been brought out; she was terrified, he was covered in blood and unconscious, and then she’d felt nothing but pain. It gripped her so hard she’d collapsed herself.

And when she woke up, she didn’t have a baby.

And when Jon woke up, it as if their marriage had died in that fiery crash with their child.

Then she’d made a mistake; she knew she had, thinking that when she saw him with his ex-girlfriend that he had been cheating on her. Jon would never do that, but she didn’t…didn’t think. She was consumed in grief and anger and blamed him. Blamed him and blamed herself, and then she was leaving. She was going to Essos, as far away from the North as she could get.

And she’d stupidly married Drogo a couple years later, thinking that would help matters. She fucking hated him. She hated herself. She was going to divorce him until the fool died from a broken neck when he’d gone out riding while drunk. Or maybe one of his associates had killed him, she didn’t care. She got a lot of his fortune out of it, not that it mattered to her, she had enough money.

She stared at Rhaena’s name, her beautiful little girl. She’d gotten to hold her. Jon and her and held her, before they took her away. She had silver hair. “I see your father was here,” she said, touching the fresh blue winter roses. She smiled. “I’ll be going south again.” She sighed, standing up and gazing for another moment at the dragon and the wolf curled in an infinity symbol. “I’ll be back, sweet girl.”

The rest of her run was hard; she hadn’t wanted to breathe. Gods knew how many miles she’d traversed, before she managed to get back to Jon’s house. She fell through the front door, in time to see him wandering down the stairs, yawning and scratching at his tangled mass of black hair. “Hard run?” he managed to get out in another yawn.

“Yes.”

He puttered to the coffee pot. “I gotta’ go to Dorne.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“I’ll be there in a couple days.” She hesitated; it was none of her business. She rolled her eyes. “What are you doing there?”

“Some movie, gonna’ crash a bunch of cars and get paid for it.” He leaned against the counter, holding his mug up, his dark eyes twinkling as he lifted it to his lips, smiling over the rim. “You wanna’ come?”

_He has always had a death wish; it’s just gotten far worse._ Ever since Rhaena’s death. She smirked. “Not interested. I prefer racing for real instead of pretend.”

“Suit yourself.”

She leaned up against him, grinning when he made a face at her sweaty lips hovering over his. “I need a shower.” She smacked his ass, grinning at his jump. “Join if you want.”

“In a minute, I need my coffee.”

“Suit yourself.” She shucked off her sweaty t-shirt and sports bra, throwing them at him as she jogged up the stairs.

And several minutes later, when he had her pinned against the tiles, her leg slung over his shoulder and his mouth between her legs, doing all kinds of things with his pretty mouth, she decided maybe she would join him in Dorne.

~/~/~/~

Jon was high.

He was floating on clouds, spinning around out of control of his own body, looking from above, and impervious to any other feeling that pure, complete bliss. He wanted to close his eyes and drift away forever on this feeling. It was addictive, those who said it wasn't were just kidding themselves. It was like taking a shot in the arm, flooding his veins with the exhilaration.

The first time he got behind the wheel of a car he had been ten, his feet barely touched the pedals and his uncle had taken him out after Robb. He had the bug after that. He watched video of his mother— she died when he was a toddler— driving and causing chaos. He wanted to be like her. Lyanna was the only girl in a house of boys, to keep up with them, she had to beat them at their own game. He became addicted to the rush, each time he got in the cars, whenever he watched them. Robb just liked the competition, wanted to _win_ , no matter the cost. Jon wanted the high. He felt like he was somewhere else entirely.

On the left he saw the mark, and he shifted his feet and flung the gearshifts, the car spinning out, completely controlled under his touch, before he maneuvered them back into place, accelerating down the track again, hearing the stunt coordinator's words in his ear, the straps of his harness locking him into place as the car hit the speed it needed, cameras attached to the sides and along the edge of the track doing what they needed to do-- he was pretty ignorant of the actual movie-making part of stunt driving.

The clock beside him counted down and once it hit zero, he slammed the brakes, jammed up on the shift and sent it into another controlled spin, smoke curling from the burning tires, the car stopping right on the mark. He heard the cheers of the other stunt team in his ear, but ignored them, shifting the car into drive again and taking it leisurely back along the track to the side, where the rest of the filming crew were camped. He stopped, turning the engine off, and unbuckled his harness, hopping out of the car and shaking his hair loose of the helmet.

The producer of the film, some sort of big budget car heist movie, wandered over. Oberyn Martell looked bored, as he often did by anything that didn't involve someone losing their limbs. "Fantastic work Jonny," he said, referring to Jon by a nickname that was _not_ approved. Not that Jon had any approved nicknames. Arya could call him Grumpy Wolf all she wanted; he wouldn't answer to it.

Jon scowled, unsnapping the collar of his suit. "Just make sure I get paid for it."

"You're the best in the business, of course I will." The Red Viper inspected his nails, appearing bored, but Jon sensed the curiosity in his careful question. "I hear that your lovely former wife is racing for your brother these days...I take it you still aren't coming out of retirement then? Shame." He smiled briefly. "Most curious, your sudden departure from the sport."

He narrowed his eyes. "Not really a surprise on either count." They had done a big press conference announcement for Dany's signing. It wasn't a secret that she used to be married to him.

"The Lannisters are vicious creatures. What they did to your brother in that race earlier this year was obscene."

"Aye."

Oberyn smiled quickly. "Just curious is all."

"We done?" He had a flight to catch back North. He never stayed in Dorne longer than he had to. Too many bad memories.

"I tried to get Daenerys to work for me, a couple years ago. Seems she only was willing return to Formula One if it was one team in particular." He grinned. "Perhaps the love is not all lost, Jon Snow." He pressed his hand to his heart, rather dramatic. "The Dornish are passionate people, we hate it when we see a great love match not work out. Unless of course you were both two much for each other."

He rolled his eyes. "Fuck off Oberyn."

"Hmm, I angered the wolf I see. Your mother was the same way."

His mother and Oberyn's longtime lover Ellaria had been good friends. It was how he got into working in stunt cars in the first place. They offered him a standing position with the production company, should he want it, after he announced his _retirement._ He didn't like it when people mentioned his mother. Especially when they compared him to her. "We're done. Have your coordinator call me if you need me some more. I'll be back up North."

"The race is in a week. You going?"

_Of course_. But he wouldn't tell Oberyn that. He smirked, waving his hand and walking off towards the trailers to change from his suit and back into street clothes. When he finished, he wandered to the car the company had provided for his use. It was a cheap sedan thing. He scowled at it, pulling the door open and climbing inside. As he turned the key— damn thing didn't even have push ignition-- his phone rang in his pocket.

He reached in and took it out, glancing at the number. Arya had convinced him he needed to put _her_ number into his phone, just for emergencies now, so he did. Under _Dragon Queen._ He answered. "Yeah?"

"I'm at your hotel, in your bed, and I'm naked."

"I'm on my way." He disconnected and sped off, taking the sedan as fast as he dared to take it on the Dornish streets, which were known to be patrolled pretty high; Oberyn's niece was the governor of the province and she was notorious for installing heavy crime reforms, which apparently had trickled down to speeding tickets. He barely stopped in front of his hotel before throwing the keys at the valet and running inside and up to his room.

Once he got there, he tossed his bag aside and whipped off his t-shirt, kicking his boots straight into the wall. "You started without me?" he demanded, seeing Dany in the bed, her hands moving slowly underneath the sheet. He rolled his eyes, pouncing on her. "Fucking tease."

She giggled, reaching for him, but kept one of her hands under the sheet, which he realized was now trying to grab him. "Hmm, I couldn't wait."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, between hot kisses, unsure why he even cared, especially the way she was now grinding up against him, her fingers moving up and down his length. He blinked, dark spots suddenly appearing in his vision.

"Hmm, interviews," she groaned. "Thought I'd surprise you."

"How'd you get in?"

"Bribed a maid."

"Naughty."

"Always."

The next few hours he really had no idea what was going on, just that she was hot and liquid in his arms, her fingers moving over him in ways that he had never forgotten. He kissed her everywhere, unable to stop tasting her. He could never get enough. He could die with her scent and softness and taste in his senses and be the happiest man in the world. He had never forgotten her, there was no way he could. Dany was his first and his only, they had vowed before a hearttree, after their jaunt to a justice-of-the-peace.

A judge had signed, stamped, and sealed their divorce papers separating them legally, but to the gods, they were still married. They vowed before the tree in Winterfell, pledged to be each other’s forever. They already were, they had been since the day they met, since the first time they got drunk together in the back of the garage and the time they hopped on the back of his bike and rode all the way down to Dorne and back. Or when they’d furiously fucked, two virgins thinking they were adults, in the backseat of a priceless antique car in his uncle’s garage. Or even when they got married, high on each other.

He couldn’t believe she thought that he…he closed his eyes, when they had finished, when he rolled sideways, tugging her to curve against his chest, breath heaving from his lungs, his mind trying to catch up with the pace of his heart.

He pulled on her hair, unraveling a curl, watching it spring back to form before he tugged on it again. _Gods this is mesmerizing._ She sniffled, nuzzling his chest, placing an random kiss on his collarbone. _What are we even doing?_ He stared at the ceiling, an arm above his head. He supposed they should answer that question. He glanced down at her again. What happened had... _happened._ Were they going to ignore it?

He sighed hard. "What?" she mumbled.

"Nothing."

She sat up slightly, a silver brow rising at the same time as the corner of her lip, into a smirk. "Really? Just _nothing_? I heard that an awful lot back in the day."

He rolled his eyes; so they were going to do this now? _Fine._ "Forget it Dany, I don’t want to fight."

"I'm not fighting Jon, I'm just saying. I ask you what's wrong, you don't talk to me. You don't tell me."

"Fine, then are we just fucking or what are we even doing?" he snapped. He couldn't do this conversation while they were naked in bed. He slipped from under her, pushing the covers off of him. It seemed she had the same thought. He shoved his feet into his jeans, jumping into them, muttering as he yanked at the zipper. "It's been two weeks Dany. You've got the race"

"The race, the race, the race!"

"That's why you're here!" he shouted. It was the only reason they were back in each other's orbit. He scowled at her, knowing she knew it too. She ducked her head, reaching back to clasp her bra. He let his hands fall to his sides, one holding onto his t-shirt. He closed his eyes, sighing hard again. "Dany..."

"Dany."

He opened his eyes again. she was looking over at him, a small smile on her lips. He cocked his head. "That's your name," he murmured. _What else would I call her?_

She walked over, in her bra and panties, her silver hair a messy knot of curls on the side of her head, streaming over her shoulder. She smiled, soft, and reached to wrap her arm around one of his shoulders and place her other hand on the center of his chest. "Yeah, it is my name, but for two weeks you've been calling me _Daenerys._ "

_Have I?_ He honestly hadn't realized. He furrowed his brow. "Really?"

"Hmm, you have."

He leaned in, forehead dropping to hers. He closed his eyes, feeling her snake around him, holding steady. He let go of his t-shirt and hugged her close. Maybe he was coming to terms with his better than he thought he was. He felt her press against him, every curve of her tiny body fitting against his. They always had been suited for each other. He thought about the first time he'd laid eyes on her. He had been a stupid, dumb sixteen-year old, fresh off heartbreak with his very first girlfriend, who had decided that being in a relationship _just wasn't for her wild heart._ Plus, it was long distance. She lived beyond the Wall and they only met when she was visiting family in Eastwatch and he was there with his family doing a visit to the factory.

And then Dany showed up, her brother Rhaegar had been consulting for Stark Motors and working with Ned on incorporating dragonglass into some of the new designs, now that the Targaryens were no longer officially involved with Balerion Industries. She was a wisp of a thing, skinny and tiny, and she had been in ripped jeans, a dirty tank, and bright red Chucks. Her silver hair was tied up in a black bandanna and she was sitting on the edge of a car while Rhaegar pointed out something to Ned in the engine.

And he had fallen in love, when she corrected her brother on something and then shoved her hand into the engine and ripped out a hose, motor oil streaking on her shirt and face.

Maybe they were too young, he mused, holding her now. They were older. More than a decade later. More angst and pain than anyone should have to deal with shared between them.

He swayed with her, his mouth finding hers again, backing her towards the bed. "Dany," he breathed.

"Say it again."

"Dany."

"Again," she whimpered.

He flipped her back onto the bed, pouncing on her, growling into her mouth and nipping her bottom lip between his teeth, forgetting what they were even arguing over. "Dany."

And she sighed, his mouth tracking hot over her damp skin. "Jon."

For the rest of the evening, he made sure that that was the _only_ thing she said, until she passed out against him, their limbs tangled, until he fell asleep as well, waking up to a cool, empty bed, and a note that simply said _Gone back to Winterfell. -D_

He crumpled it up and fell back against the pillows. irritated. _What the fuck is happening to us?_ he wondered, confused on if he should be glad, she hadn't made a fuss and just left or pissed off. What _were_ they? He got up and wandered into the bathroom, taking a look at his reflection in the mirror. He honestly had no idea who was staring back at him. The man that looked back was tired, black shadows beneath his eyes, hair a riotous mess on his head, and what appeared to be bite marks and bluish-purple bruises forming on his shoulders, neck, and forearms.

The red of the tattoo on his side caught his reflection. He lightly touched it; he was terrified of needles. Had only done it because Dany had gotten one and she dared him. Then...then Rhaena had gone. He wanted a piece of her on him always. His fingertip dragged on the 'R.' He felt tears prick his eyes and pushed away, angered at his reaction. It didn't matter. It was in the past.

This was just for fun, he told himself, stepping beneath the hot spray of the shower, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Just fun," he muttered, trying to convince his brain. Dany would race for them and then they'd no doubt drive each other crazy and away. He repeated it again. "Just for fun, Jon."

Something in his heart laughed. It sounded like Dany, chiding him. _Yeah right_

~/~/~/~

They were ready, Jon thought, watching Dany pull the car away from the pit, babying the engine a bit as she warmed up. He didn't need to be there, he'd honestly stopped by to work on accounts, but decided to investigate when Gilly told him that even Sansa had come from the main offices in Winter Town to watch the test run. He knew he probably should have been there; he would be Dany's spotter the day of the race, probably one of the most important jobs other than the driver herself.

He had been watching video of the other racers, but he knew them already. Knew that Jaime Lannister was going to try to take her out the first chance he could. It really was a shame, because Lannister was not an all around bad guy, it was his fucked up sister who always wanted to win and his equally demonic father, who had decided to try to become the richest man in Westeros by destroying every company he could get his hands on. His children decided they liked cars, so he decided he wanted all the auto companies, even Stark Motors.

Tywin also didn't like that his luxury cars did not sell as well as the Direwolf or even the Dragonlux. No one wanted the Roararri, it was too flashy, better suited for rich kids who thought they knew what they were talking about or cheap businessmen who couldn't even jump a battery let alone rip an engine apart and put it back together without looking.

He had a bad feeling, but kept it tamped down. It was probably just the raging emotions with Dany's return, with whatever they were doing. He just called it _fucking each other's brains out._ He suspected she called it the same. Best to keep the distance and not address it or give it a real name. He reached to rub slightly at the bruise on the side of his neck from earlier that day. He had been messing with one of their test cars and when he climbed out, he found himself thrown back inside and her legs around his waist and tongue in his throat.

Quite a way to finish a job, he supposed.

He glanced sideways at Robb, who was gripping his crutch so hard his knuckles were white. "Relax," he snapped. _What did Robb have to worry about? It wasn't his ex-wife behind the wheel of a hunk of carbon that pulled more Gs than a fighter jet._

"I am."

"No, you're not. Sit down." He dragged a chair over and reluctantly forced his cousin to sit. Even if he wouldn't admit it, Robb looked appreciative, rubbing at his knee, which was still in a heavy brace. He gazed at the monitors, cameras around the track giving them insight onto Dany's form and speed. Jon glanced at him again, before blowing out a frustrated breath. "You should have told me."

It was the first time in over a month since he'd walked out to find Dany driving for them. He was still pissed, still wished Robb had consulted him before springing his ex-wife on him. The family obviously knew _why_ he and Dany had had problems-- a stillborn child was enough to break up even the strongest of relationships-- they just didn't understand _why_ that meant they had to separate. They still acted like it was a surprise when he announced that Dany had moved to Essos and they were divorcing. Acted like it was some sort of shock thing when he said he would never race again.

Robb played stupid; his brother was only ever in it to win, damn the consequences. "What do you mean?" He dragged his notebook to him, making a few notes. "She's still taking turns too fast."

"Have you met Dany?"

He chuckled. "I see she is _Dany_ again."

"Don't gloat," he snapped. He spun Robb's chair, glaring at him, wanting to make sure his cousin knew that what he did was shitty, even if he did get a win out of it. He grit his teeth. "You should have told me. You _knew_ about us and why we separated."

"Actually Jon I don't."

He glared at him; eyes wide. _Fucking serious?_ "You know," he spit out. He grabbed hold of his shirt, yanking it up to show him his tattoo, with the drag with its wings and the script R. He jabbed at it. "Our _daughter_! We lost a daughter and it _killed_ us! You just brought her back without telling me!"

Robb forced himself to his feet, his cheeks flushed. "You lost a daughter, Jon, but you both could have survived that! You're both too fucking scared to admit that you guys didn't want to fight, and you know what? It killed all of us when you separated! Because we _knew_ you could get through it and you didn't want to fight!"

He swung his hand out, fist forming just in time to knock Robb back, his crutch giving out under him. He didn't even care, and it seemed Robb didn't either, his cousin grunting and lurching, tackling him backwards into the wall. The hit one of the monitors, knocking it askew on its stand, before he thrust forward and pitched Robb into the desk, his fist punching him under his rib. Robb managed to get his hand free and pull at Jon's arm, yanking it around behind him, but Jon moved faster, being less stocky than his cousin and quicker, stomping on his foot, which forced Robb to release with an exclamation, allowing Jon to swing at him again.

The noise they were no doubt making-- or maybe the security cameras-- drew Davos from the offices, their manager cursing under his breath and shouting. "Oi! Stop!" He grabbed Jon instead of Robb, since the latter was wincing and holding his side, the side with his bad pelvis, leg, and everything else, before falling into the chair.

The problem with Jon was when he got riled up there was nothing that could stop him. Most people just had to be taken away from the source of their anger, they could simmer down. Not him. He turned into a feral wolf, snarling and snapping, his legs kicking out as he transferred his anger, frustration, and pain onto Davos, trying to knock him free. "Let me go!" he roared. He kicked out at Robb. "Fuck you Robb!"

"I'm sorry I didn’t tell you but don't get mad at me because you never handled your shit!" Robb spat, blood marring his teeth. He reached to wipe at his lip, wincing at the pain. He jabbed his finger towards him. "Yeah, I called her because I wanted to win, and I didn't tell you because _this_ was how you were going to respond! You were going to freak out all because you never dealt with the fact that you're still in love with her and you both couldn't deal. You took it out on _all_ of us and we let you but I'm _sick_ of it now!" He stood, grabbing his crutch and used it to knock the chair away. He almost seemed like he wanted to use it to hit his cousin, who was still fighting—albeit weakly—against Davos's hold. He sighed, sad. "I am sorry Jon, but you and Dany need to fucking talk."

"We do talk," he mumbled; it was mostly a lie.

A lie Robb saw right through, rolling his eyes. "Oh I don't mean fuck, Jon. You both do that very well, seeing as the walls are thin around here." He pointed to him again with the crutch. "I mean actually fucking talk about the fact that you two lost a child and instead of coping, you disappeared into yourself and she disappeared to Essos." He glanced at the screen, at the way Dany was zigzagging around the track. he snorted. "She didn't have to take the contract you know. Maybe start there."

He stared at his cousin as he stormed off, hobbling away to the office. He eventually sagged against Davos, his eyes closing, exhausted. The old man, who had been almost more of a father to him than Ned, who had always been a bit distant, patted his shoulder and moved to sit him in Robb's vacated chair. "There, there lad. You not going to bite anymore?"

"Not you old man."

Davos chuckled, smacking his shoulder again, and gripped it firmly. "Aye, I am that. Means I've seen a lot of the world." They both looked at one of the monitors, at Dany and the speed that the last curve caught. She was booking it, she handled the car the same way on race day, she'd likely win.

Provided the Lannisters didn't have a dirty trick up their sleeves.

He leaned on the desk, staring at the monitors. He heard Davos chuckle. It bothered him. "What?" he growled. He barely looked over his shoulder. "Say what you aren't."

"I saw you both. When little Rhaena passed." The sound of his daughter’s name from someone else stabbed him in the heart, causing it to clench and unclench. It was so painful, even years later. Davos moved to stand closer to him, whispering. "You both had to cope, I understand that, but you both disappeared into yourselves and forgot the other. Talk to her. It may not hurt as much if you do."

"We talked." _Why does everyone keep saying they had to talk? That was what they did._ "We were married."

"Talking is sometimes the last thing married couples do, son." Davos patted his shoulder again. "Just some advice from an old man."

"She thinks I cheated on her," he snapped. It was something that he hadn't divulged to anyone. Other than Davos. Because Davos wasn't his family. He turned, his arms over his chest, scowling. Davos made no move. He shrugged. "She thinks that our daughter died, and I went looking to an old girlfriend for comfort. What the fuck do I do with that?"

"And your response was to what? Explain to her? Try to understand why she feared that?" Davos shook his head, laughing. "No, you didn't. You just let her think it, buried away in your work, and you let her run away to Essos. She wasn't happy there Jon, else she wouldn't be back here." He paused, poking his shoulder. "She wouldn't still be in love with you either."

He said nothing as Davos walked off. He turned away, looking at the screens. He shook his head, closing his eyes. "Fuck," he cursed. He picked up the headset, keying into the channel Dany was using. "You there?"

"Where have you been?" Arya snapped.

"Busy."

"I'm just spinning in circles for the hells of it all, don’t mind me," Dany sang. He heard the curiosity in her voice, the questioning of where he'd gone. "Where's Robb?"

"Busy."

"That your only word?"

Jon shook his head, picking up the iPad that had the track for Westerlands on it, the curves marked that were similar to the ones they had on their track. "Take curve seven ten degrees sharper," he advised. "You'll shave off some time."

Dany did as he asked, sure enough, her time was less on the next mark. He knew she wouldn't say anything about it. He was surprised she even listened to him. "channel two, Snow," she said suddenly.

"You two going to do radio sex or something?" Arya snapped. Gendry audibly groaned, heard through the mic.

He did as Dany asked, bringing them to a private channel without Arya eavesdropping. "Yeah?"

"You'll tell me later why you went away?"

"Aye." He wondered if she meant _went away_ in terms of a few minutes ago or if it was all those other times.

Maybe it was all those other times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: It's race day! Jon and Dany finally talk


	3. navigating the turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon talk (or yell) it out; Dany races the Westerlands Grand Prix; almost a year later they find themselves back in Dorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, once again longer then I intended and now an additional chapter is necessary. So much for a one-shot.
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> (Also if anyone is curious, I'm working on my next multichapter, but it might be a bit before it goes up. It's set in an Edwardian time period but in Westeros, Dany gets sent to live with her recluse older brother and finds a curiously walled off garden and hears wolf howls at night, but why?-- it's kind of an adult twist to The Secret Garden)

Dany hoisted her bag up over her shoulder, grabbing her helmet and walking out of the locker room, her hair damp from her shower and knotted into a tight braid that draped over her shoulder. She casually flicked it back, going down the hallway of the sprawing complex to Jon’s office, smirking at the name frosted on the glass window beside the heavy black door. She dragged her finger over it, leaning in slightly. “Jon Snow, Chief Operations Officer.” He looked up from where he was scanning some sort of spreadsheet on his computer. He wore his glasses, which when added to his man-bun, skinny jeans, and too tight t-shirt made him look like a surly hipster.

He leaned back in his chair, swiveling away from the computer screens. “Aye. That’s what it says.”

“Does Robb know that you don’t want to be chief anything?”

“I don’t think Robb cares, honestly.”

“So what does a COO even do?”

He shrugged, chuckling, tossing his pen in her direction. She dodged it, mouth falling open in mock indignation. Ghost looked up from his giant red pillow bed, a rope toy in his paws. He swiveled again in the chair as she approached him, dropping her bag on the floor beside him, straddling his knees and placing her hands on either side of his head, leaning the headrest back slightly and forcing him to gaze up at her. His fingers went to her hips, holding her still, murmuring. “Makes shit happen.”

“And you do that?”

“Got me.”

“So what does Robb do?”

“Fuck shit up.”

She grinned. “Sounds about right.” She leaned in, brushing a kiss over his lips, whispering. “Hurry up, I want to go home.”

He hummed. “Meet you out front in a minute, gotta’ finish up this one order.”

“Don’t dawdle.” She swatted him lightly, moving backwards and grabbed her bag, swinging her hips a little more to give him a reminder of why he needn’t dawdle, leaving the office and meandering through the halls to get to the front of the offices. She turned the corner, pushing open one of the glass swinging doors, where she froze instantly, seeing the occupants of the main entryway, who were chatting. As if nothing at all were the matter, she thought, eyes widening.

_This has Sansa all over it._

That was the first thing she thought, seeing the redhead speaking with her former sister-in-law. She had initially planned to just go out to Jon’s bike and wait, but… _fuck._ This was not what she needed. _Not at all._ The race was six days away. She was stressed. They left tomorrow for Lannisport. She intended to spend that evening _de-stressing_ with Jon.

And this was not going to help.

Because, once they got to Lannisport it would be nothing but making sure the cars were in tip-top shape, they had all the parts, she had the track down, and then there would be qualifying, test runs, and interviews. Everything that went on with a Grand Prix. This would have more attention on it, as it was her first race for the Starks and the first race for the Starks since Robb's accident. Which everyone knew Lannisters were behind. On Lannister turf, the Westerlands.

She was nervous; she would never admit it, because she didn't _get_ nervous, but she was.

Then fucking Sansa had to go and bring... _her_ into the office. She had no idea if it really was Sansa, but it absolutely had to be. _Who else would take such pleasure in this?_ And the other red-head certainly looked like she was enjoying it, if her brief smirk was any indication.

"Daenerys," the other woman said, pretending to be surprised. _Maybe she was._ Sansa certainly wasn’t.

Dany grit her teeth, a false smile pulled back tightly. "Ygritte."

Ygritte smiled; Dany was pleased to see she still hadn't gotten her crooked front teeth fixed. The woman was pretty in a mismatched sort of way. Freckles, bright red hair, and green eyes. Except she was too skinny, with a body that was more like a twelve-year old boy's, and her teeth too big for her face. She glanced at Sansa, smiling at her. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

Before Sansa even had a chance to speak, she did, demanding. "You came all the way from Eastwatch?" She kept one eye on Ygritte and the other on Sansa, trying to figure out who was playing who here. She shifted her bag on her shoulder, eyebrow arching. "Does Jon know?"

"Does Jon know what?"

All three of them turned to see Jon coming out, not looking, but messing with something in his battered brown satchel. Ghost was trotting behind him. The wolf took one look at everything and immediately turned around. _Smart boy_ , Dany thought, reaching for Jon's arm. Her nails dug in hard, curving angry red crescents. "Does Jon know that Ygritte has made a trip to Winterfell from Eastwatch, because Sansa invited her."

Jon's head jerked up, staring at his former girlfriend. He immediately furrowed his brows, darting a glance to Sansa. "Ygritte. What are you doing here?"

The other woman explained again. She smiled at him. "You look good Jon. It is nice to see you. How long as it been? Couple months?"

Jon stared at her for a moment, his face completely blank. Until, to her surprise, he snaked his arm around her waist, disappearing his hand around her hip into the front pocket of her jeans, tugging her hard to his side. _So that’s how we’re going to play it?_ She sneered up at him. "More like a year, Ygritte." He glared at Sansa, who had a nasty smile on her face. "And if I'm lucky, I won't see you for another year. Safe trip back to Eastwatch." He snarled. "I'll talk to you later Sansa."

"Bye," Ygritte called, arching a red brow. "And I do hope it is less than a year, Crow." She wiggled her fingers towards him, that smirking smile twisting on her lips. “I’ve missed you, after all.”

“Bye Jon!” Sansa chirped.

They walked out, not saying another word. Dany’s face was as red as Ygritte's hair. She was _furious._ She said nothing, did nothing. She couldn’t. Not yet. So she climbed on the back of Jon's motorcycle, her arms gripping around him. She fought the urge to tear off his cock as punishment but forced herself to think that it was Sansa who brought Ygritte there for whatever reason. It was not Jon. He was as angry to see the ex as she was.

They peeled out of the parking lot so fast she feared briefly they would tip sideways. They sped down the streets. Except instead of turning towards his cottage, they kept going. _What the hell?_ He said nothing, just pushed harder on the throttle and took them deeper into the Wolfswood.

And then they ended up at their waterfall.

He stopped the bike in the rocky turnoff, sending stones flying. The engine rumbled down and she immediately climbed off, wanting nothing to do with him. She ripped the helmet from her head, waited a second, took in the beauty of the falls as she did when she saw them and then turned, hurling the heavy item at him. "Fuck you!" she sobbed.

_How long have I even been crying?_

Tears streamed down her face; she suspected she had been crying almost the entire ride and hadn't realized. Every single fear and horrible ache she had kept hidden for five years seemed to be emerging, all from one simple exchange with a woman she had never wanted to see again. She tried to turn away, to run to the waterfall, and realized that that was why he'd brought her here; there was nowhere for her to hide and nowhere for her to run.

_I run very well._

He grabbed for her wrist, yanking her to his chest, crushing her small body to his, and she thought he was being his normal volatile and angry self, until she realized he was shaking too, and his words were tired and sad. "I didn't...I didn't sleep with her Dany. I don't know why...why you would _ever_ think that!"

She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t even want to think of it. Except she did. And she had no response. “I don’t know!” she shouted. She cried, beating weakly against his chest. “I don’t know!” The lid she had kept on those feelings had blown off long ago, everything spewing forth. The terror when she'd seen Ygritte comforting him, how he seemed more willing to cry on the shoulder of an ex than he did with her and using that as an excuse to run away. She pushed away from him, screaming. "Because you went to _her_!"

"I didn’t go to her!” he yelled. He stepped backwards. “I dated her when I was fourteen years old!" He let out a roar, moving to kick at the tire of his bike, his fists clenched at his sides. "Dany what the fuck! I was with _you_ my entire life! She was no one, just a friend, just someone who let me use her shoulder to cry because _you weren't there_!"

"I lost my daughter!"

"And so did I!"

They were screaming, the wolf and the dragon. There was no one to hear them. She stumbled away; mind foggy. She felt that fresh hurt again, the hurt that he wasn't going to her for comfort. That he would dare go to another woman. She had been stupid at the time, young and immature and trying to cope with what had happened to them alone. She missed everyone then, she missed her brother and her mother. She wanted to go _home_ , except that home was _him._ And she hurt so bad. She tripped, wandering, and made her way to the waterfall, the sound of the water thundering into the pool below dulling her senses.

_They lost a child._

And neither one bothered to mention it to the other.

He came up behind her, his hand flat between her shoulder blades, warming to her heart. Part of her didn’t want him to touch her. The other part wanted him to take her into his arms and never let her go. Until they just died together like that. In the place where they always escaped when they wanted to be alone. Where they came to be with each other, sneaking and hiding and being dumb kids. They weren’t dumb kids anymore though. She cried, her voice cracking. "I just wanted you to hold me. To tell me it would be okay," she sobbed. She turned, pushing at him, weakly. "And you went to someone else instead."

Maybe it was a dumb reason. “I didn’t go to her…” He laughed, sad. “Dany…she came to me. She came to me and I…I would never have cheated on you, and you thinking that I did..." He was as pained as her; his gray eyes almost black with the sadness. He hit his fist to his chest, voice raspy. "You thinking that killed me! What was I supposed to do? You didn't trust me!"

"You blamed me for Rhaena," she cried.

"Why would you _ever_ think that?! How could you think that!?” he exclaimed, horrified.

"I don't know!"

It was his turn to sob. "It was my fault. The accident..." He hiccupped, his eyes swollen red with unshed tears. "I killed her."

_No!_

Now it was time for her to be horrified. The look twisted in her eyes and face; he could not possibly mean that! She watched his shoulders slump, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He stumbled slightly, towards the waterfalls, reaching to shakily rake his fingers through his hair. She wondered if he had ever said those words out loud. Or if he too had kept them inside like she had. "You didn't," she gasped, this time her hand reaching to between his shoulders.

He flinched, turning his face, and she could see it all. Five years of tortured grief. "I crashed the car," he barely whispered. He closed his eyes, reaching to press his hands to his face, a wracking sob leaving him. "I put you in that position..."

"I was already in it." She hadn't told him. _Why didn't I tell him?_ She took his hands, reaching them to her stomach, to her empty womb, confessing her deepest shame. "I was already in pain and didn't tell you. I didn't want to worry you. I should have told you...I should have told you, but you wouldn't have raced. Then you did and you crashed and...and it was my fault. My _stupid_ body killed her, not you!"

If he heard her, she had no idea, because he wrapped her tight in his one arm, the other crushed between them, hand atop hers over her belly. He shakily breathed into her ear. "You didn't. It wasn't your fault Dany. It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either," she managed to get out.

_Was that the first time they'd said that to each other?_

If they fell, she didn't know. Maybe they just sat down, their knees and bodies giving out from the release of the world. She sank into him, her face buried in his chest, hearing his heart racing. her fingertips curled into his shoulder, latching against him. They had wasted so much time. So much energy being angry. Maybe it was because they were so young and immature and naive. They thought the world was theirs and they could do whatever they wanted.

"You are the love of my life."

He turned his face to her, staring, in awe. She nodded, repeating the words. "You are the love of my life Jon Snow. I thought I'd lost you. I was so angry at you. Angry you didn't talk to me. I thought you blamed me. I blamed myself. Then I saw you with her...I guess it was all my brain needed to think that you didn't want me. Gave me an excuse to leave. To run away from everything...everywhere I looked I saw her. I saw where we would raise her, where we would show her about cars and engines and take her for her first drive. I saw where we created her." She looked around the cove of the waterfall. It was somewhere there, where they'd created their daughter in a wild fit of love and passion and endlessness. She clenched her eyes shut, sobbing. "And I wanted to leave."

 _And I should have told you._ The confession remained unsaid. He understood, his callused hand scratching at her soft cheek as he stroked lightly, his forehead rocking against hers, their lips and noses brushing each other. "I should have chased after you,” he breathed. He shook his head, scowling, furious with himself no doubt. “Gods, I was so mad you thought I would hurt you like that, but I should have gone after you. I’m sorry I didn’t…” He kissed her brow. Began to lay kisses over her face, punctuating each one with breathy, anxious words. "I love you. So much. You’re mine. I'm yours. Always. No one. Else. Ever."

She nodded, frantic, trying to reach him, her fingers clutching and clasping, tears mingling from her cheeks to his. "Jon...I love you. I never stopped."

"Then why did you leave?" he whispered. It was so tiny, a simple question, with so many possible answers. Not one of which would be enough. He laughed. "You hated me...I...I hated you...but I didn't."

That was an easier emotion to feel than what it really was. Intense soul-binding love. She had channeled everything into hating him. Into thinking he cheated on her, because it was easier for her brain to believe that than to focus on the fact that he honestly didn't know what to do. He was as confused as she had been. She hiccupped. "I don't know."

He chewed his lower lip, wrestling with something. He sighed hard. "You married Drogo and I...I couldn't take it. I got so fucking wasted when I found out."

"And you were with Ygritte?" she finished. She assumed so, judging from the knowing, smug look in Sansa's eyes. The bitch loved to stir the pot so to speak. She stiffened, shaking her head. "I can't be mad at you for something you did when we were apart. I fucking married someone...but he wasn't you...he wasn't what I wanted...he taught me some things...about being strong and fighting for what I wanted, but..." She sighed, heavily and hurting, eyes still shining. She tucked a lock of his curls behind his ear, stroking her fingers over his beard. "I love you."

She laughed, but it was a choke instead. "When Tyrion got the call from Robb...I didn't even let him finish and said I'd come. I guess I thought you were behind it."

He smiled, shakily. "Yeah?"

"And when I saw your face, how mad you were at me...I just had to kiss you, see if it was the same...you kissed me back and then I was so _angry._ "

"That ring of yours packs a punch."

They both looked at the ring she always wore, which belonged to her mother. She laughed too, closing her eyes and sighing against him. "When you kissed me back, I knew it wasn't over and I was so frustrated. It's so easy to hate you Jon Snow."

"And you Daenerys..." he trailed off, nose brushing hers, whispering. "Snow."

"Snow Storm," she murmured, thinking of what Rhaegar used to call them when they blew into the garage while he was working. A play on his last name and her nickname 'Stormborn.' She closed her eyes even tighter, trying to figure out what happened next. There was so much that was still unsaid. They could not just get over what happened in one angry and sad cry in front of their waterfall.

He understood, kissing her softly. "I can't distract you. You need to win."

"We should...take time away." _From each other. Just for a bit._ "Talk."

"After the season?"

 _After the season!? That was months!_ Except they couldn’t let themselves get distracted. They needed to focus on the season. On winning the championship. It would be hard, but…they had to do it. For now. She nodded, her arms still around him, whispering. "After the season.”

"But first..." He took her hand and they returned to the motorcycle. They didn't go to his house, but to the cemetery. She suspected they would. It was the right thing to do. The healing thing to do. _We are so fucked up._

And for the first time since they buried her, both of them visited their daughter and apologized, letting go of the stranglehold they'd had on the grief. Just a bit.

It would get easier, maybe, she thought, burying her face into Jon's chest as he wrapped her tight against him, his shoulders shaking too.

~/~/~/~

"What are they doing?"

Arya looked over from the last-minute checks she was giving the engine, following Gendry's curious gaze to where Jon and Dany where standing in their slot by the track. She forgot that Gendry had not been around five years ago when Jon had been racing for their team. "They do a thing," she explained. She had wondered if they were going to do it before, unsure what their current relationship status happened to be. _It's complicated_ was an understatement. She just hoped they hadn't fucked in the racecar. Or on it.

Especially because she and Gendry had done that the night before. She considered it something of good luck. Blessing the car or something.

Gendry shoved his hands into the pockets of his Stark Racing coveralls. He frowned. "What are they saying, you think?"

To the average person, Jon and Dany were just standing there, occasionally Jon would say something to her. He stood with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed over his chest. They both wore the Stark Motors uniform, the gray and white special jackets and pants, with their various sponsors, who wanted the free advertising they got with their logo slapped on the side of the car and on the back of their jackets.

Jon's dark hair was pulled back from his face in a low bun and he had on a backwards baseball cap. Dany was rolling her head on her shoulders, swaying slightly and her arms slightly aloft, Jon's fingertips barely touching under her forearms. It looked strange to the outsider, so she got why Gendry was confused. "He's walking her through the track again."

Who knew what else they were saying. Dany's eyes were closed. She had her hands on Jon's arms, barely touching, and nodded occasionally as he said things. Her eyes opened when they called for the racers. "Alright," she heard Dany say.

She chuckled, nudging Gendry. "Let's see if they do it."

"Do what?"

Dany approached the car, other racers making their way over to their vehicles. She stood beside it and then took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. "You ready?" Jon asked.

"Ready," she said.

"Fire and blood."

"Fire and blood." Dany then suddenly hauled her hand back and smacked Jon on the face. She then grabbed his cheeks and planted a kiss on him that had Gendry flushing and most ordinary people looking away. Arya was not ordinary, so she laughed. Dany pulled back and nodded her head smartly. "Ready."

Jon handed her the helmet and her gloves; no one else was allowed to do this, if Arya remembered correctly. It was a superstitious process. To go with smacking him and kissing him. She really had no idea how that one started, probably something when they were teenagers. She stepped back and nodded to Dany, pulling Gendry away. It was the last she'd get to see her baby, she thought, hoping that she had done all she could to make it the best thing it could be. It had done fine in qualifying. Now was the final go of it.

"Look what the lion dragged out."

_Oh fuck._

Dany turned her head slightly when the blonde walked over, looking out of place in a red designer dress and gold heels instead of racing gear. "Cersei," Jon said, nodding briefly to the twin of Jaime, who was standing beside her, holding his helmet and gloves, looking rather smug. He squinted. "I wouldn't say look what the lion dragged out, but the wolf. You don’t normally come down before races?" He smirked. "Need to give baby brother a goodbye kiss?"

Cersei sneered. "Where is your brother? Still hobbling around?"

"No thanks to you."

"Wasn't proven," Jaime said. He smirked at Dany. "I've never raced against you before. Should be fun."

Dany grinned. "Yes, should be. Too bad you won't be able to see me."

Arya smiled, looking at Jaime's confused look. "What do you mean?"

Cersei growled, pissed that her brother had fallen into whatever trap Dany had laid for him. Dany smiled again from her place in the cockpit. "Because you're going to be sucking on my tailpipe. See you at the finish line." She smacked her visor down and began the process of starting the engine, effectively dismissing the Lannisters.

Arya growled at Cersei, still furious over what had happened to Robb. "You do anything in this race, you fucking bitch, and I'll rip your face off."

"Easy little cub," Cersei chuckled. She smiled at Jon. "I have no intention of doing anything in this race." She leaned in, whispering, attempting to intimidate. "The next one though..."

The threat lingered, so soft no one could hear but them. Jaime chuckled and walked off to their car. Arya grabbed her cousin's arm, yanking him forward. "Did you hear that? Seriously? She basically confirmed she was behind Robb's accident."

"They all know the Lannisters are behind that accident. There’s nothing on the cameras and we know they paid off the racing officials,” he mumbled, glaring after her. Arya paused, about to say something, but closed her mouth. There was a current in the air, she could sense it. Jon always had a bite to him, an edge, and it had gotten so much worse of late. She was nosy; she always wanted to know more about things and while she knew that yeah, he and Dany separated because their daughter died, she knew there was more to it than that. Then she’d come back and things had shifted, but Jon was still a caged wolf, snarling and snapping, and ready to attack. She was not interested in being in the way when he finally let loose.

It would be best to let him blow off his frustration and anger elsewhere, so she would not get stuck in the aftermath. She simply nodded slightly and walked off with Gendry towards the pit. Robb was in the fancy viewing boxes in the stadium. She pulled her phone out, calling up to him. After a moment, he answered. “Yeah?”

“They did their pre-show thing. Cersei was there though. Jon’s…Jon.”

“He didn’t kill her, did he?”

 _Who? Dany or Cersei?_ “He might.”

“Where is he now?”

She watched Jon take his spot and hook on his headset, pulling his notes and the specs of the car towards him, locking eyes on the screen as Dany’s car made the warm-up laps around. “Settling in.”

“Keep an eye on him. I don’t have enough money to bail him out or buy off the Lannisters if he decides to lose it.”

“You think she’ll win?”

“She better, for what I’m paying her.” He disconnected. She smirked, grabbing Gendry’s elbow. “Come on loverboy.”

Gendry flushed. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that in front of people.”

“What? It’s true.”

~/~/~/~

"Alright Dany, deep breaths."

Jon's soft Northern burr filled her ear through the car's radio. She nodded, even if he was not there. "Copy," she said, shifting in her harness. They had prepared for this. It was a ballet, choreographed to the microsecond. When she would turn, when she would accelerate, when she would attempt to overtake. Even when she would do the pit stop to change out tires. Provided of course nothing else happened that mandated an earlier stop. She kept her gaze ahead, not looking at the other cars; she couldn't think of them right now.

The rules between what could and couldn't be said on radio bothered her; she wished he could give her more information than he was allowed, but she understood-- somewhat-- why. "Arya on?" she asked.

"Here," Arya's voice chirped. As chief mechanic, she was with the pit crew. "Copy."

"T minus three," Jon reminded her. She nodded again.

Courtesy of qualifying times, she had prime position when they readied before the start. She never got nervous before races. In fact, she often found the pre-race warmup and nerves that struck many drivers and teams as rather immature, downright _boring._ It was predictable behavior, something she had never been a fan of. She loved racing, loved the adrenaline that coursed through her, and carried her from start to finish. Rhaegar always said it was because she was born in a storm, she had come into the world screaming and sucking in lightning, so of course she would always seek out a chance to get that shock, that bolt of lightning she'd been born with.

Maybe she was nervous for other reasons, which irritated her too, as she climbed into the cockpit of the car. It was as tested as it was going to be. Arya's engine and Gendry's aerodynamics had created a sleek, well-functioning art of machinery. The tires had been delivered at attached, per the racing guidelines, as they could do whatever they wanted to their cars—within reason—but the tires all had to be the same. She watched as the other Stark team members attached them, barking orders and making sure things were done the way _she_ wanted. This was her car now, the moment the wheels touched the track.

The paint was classic Stark gray and white, but of course the various sponsor decals covered most of it. Save for the snarling direwolf on the hood. She wore the uniform with the same, except she refused to wear anything other than her black helmet with the red three-headed dragon. It was something of a talisman. Rhaegar got her, her very first helmet when she first began to play in go-karts and dirtbikes and every single one thereafter mimicked it. She never raced without it. She was the blood of the dragon, after all.

Superstitions did not control them, but she did make sure that since Jon was there, they might as well do their routine they had done in the past. The slap and kiss had come about on accident. It was when they were eighteen. Jon was getting ready to race and they had gotten in an argument—typical. Gods knew what it was, but Jon had snapped at her about stop being such a fucking princess and she had smacked him, said she was no princess, she was a fucking queen, and then she'd kissed him. He had gotten into the car and blown the record for the track out of the water. Since then, she had to smack him and kiss him before either of them got into the driver seat.

The other thing was that they had to fuck like bunnies the night before a race.

And they didn't do that last night.

Since their breakdown at the waterfall, they had been tentative with each other. She was scared. So was he. They had never said some of the things they'd said. It made her feel foolish and she knew he felt that way too. It was so complicated. They had to talk and right now they needed to focus.

If it didn't kill her though to sleep alone. She'd gotten used to him again.

She pushed him from her mind, eyes closed as she sat in the seat, the engine rumbling as the start counted on the screen in front of her. She whispered to herself in Valyrian and touched her fingertips to her heart, sending a brief prayer to her daughter. It was something she did every single time she got in a car. Her daughter was with her, always. "I'm doing this for you," she whispered.

She hit the accelerator, revving, eyes fixed on the track. In her periphery, the start sequence seemed slower than normal. The second it hit all five, she slammed her feet, and jerked at her gears, flying out, accelerating so fast everything was a blur and her eyes watered, but she just grinned, heart pumping in tandem with her acceleration. To her left she saw Jaime, the _dick_ , in the Lannister's bright red and gold car, trying to overtake her.

 _No way you golden-haired furball_ , she thought, swiftly maneuvering the first turn. This might have been Jaime's home circuit, but she had studied and studied it nonstop. Jon had made her run _drills_ on it, the annoying wolf.

They had done practice runs of course, part of the process. Qualifying runs. This was the final get. Even so, it was a hard, nasty track. Perfect for the Lannisters, as they were hard and nasty people.

Dany understood Jon’s fear. The Westerlands Grand Prix circuit used a track and actual roads blocked off for the event. The road surface didn’t necessarily concern her, it was the fact that they curved and snaked along the sharp western coastline, dropping hundreds of feet in sheer cliffs to the Sunset Sea. It was dangerous on good days, let alone in a car going almost 200 miles an hour. She had only done this track once before and she'd lost. She _hated_ losing. She would win this, because it was what she wanted. it was why Robb Stark had signed her to his team, had offered her more money than all the gods above could come up with, including a significant percentage of their advertising earnings.

“Careful Dany,” Jon said.

“I see him.”

“You’re losing speed.”

“I know! Fuck!” Jaime had barely tapped her, but it cost her; he was now ahead, barely. She switched gears, shifting around. They hadn’t even completed one lap and he was already fucking with her.

_Fucking Lannisters._

She grinned. That meant they were worried. Well, she’d show them.

She wasn’t called the Dragon Queen for no reason. Although, there was another name they sometimes called her. One that didn’t come out often, but she thought it appropriate for today. Even though they hadn’t discussed it in their strategy sessions.

“Hey Jon.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going Mad Queen.”

Arya chimed in. “What’s that mean?”

No doubt the Stark team wouldn’t know. Only a few did, she didn’t bring it out often. Jon chuckled, which had her smile. It always warmed her heart when he allowed himself enjoyment. “Copy, Daenerys Targaryen, going Mad Queen in three…two…”

She made a ‘boom’ noise and laughed. “ _Dracarys._ ”

And she won the race.

~/~/~/~

They still hadn’t spoken, which she realized was probably not a good thing, in the grand scheme of things. There was just another reason to put it off. Another race, another interview, another party or event. The season was in full swing.

Robb had already raced two out of the seven Grand Prix circuits that year before his accident. The Westerlands was the third. It was down to the final one. She had relocated from mostly staying in Winterfell, now that the car was relatively reliable, save for Arya’s obsession with the _perfect engine_ and tweaking it as Dany gave feedback after each race over how it handled or its fuel consumption or the timing.

They were neck and neck with Jaime Lannister, which seemed appropriate. Cersei had tried several times to fuck with them over the last few months, getting desperate, no doubt. Someone had been caught trying to sneak into their warehouse in Winterfell, another had tried to break in to get to the car before qualifying during the Storm’s End Grand Prix. She’d lost control of the car during the King’s Landing race after Jaime swiped her, skidding off the track and having to do an emergency pit stop to replace a tire, losing valuable time. She’d come in third in that race and had been _pissed._

It went on like that through the other races. She’d won the Northern Grand Prix, thank _gods_ because that would have been embarrassing otherwise. Now it was just the last one, the one that would decide who would have the overall Realm Championship.

_Dorne._

She’d flown from Dragonstone, where she had been staying at her house, to Dorne. Robb had called her, multiple times over the days leading up, insisting she come to Winterfell beforehand, to meet and strategize, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near Winterfell before the Dornish Grand Prix. She couldn’t be anywhere near where she’d fallen in love, gotten married, and where her baby was buried.

The last time she had been at the Dornish track, she had been pregnant. Jon had been the one getting into the car, to drive off and win the cup, win the championship, but it had ended in a fiery crash, explosion, and the loss of everything they’d known.

Dany made her way down the hallway from her hotel suite, her hand gripping the whiskey bottle. She waited a moment outside of the room, eyes closing. _Fuck._ She took a deep breath and knocked.

_What are you doing?_

_What should have been done sooner._

The door pulled open, Jon standing in the frame. He was holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He blinked, glancing at her and then to the bottle in her hand. He smirked, lifting the glasses. “Guess you didn’t want these, huh?”

She smiled, realizing he had the same idea as her. “I guess I’m already here.”

“Guess so.” He stepped aside, allowing her entry to his suite. She smiled, sauntering in, and he closed the door, following behind her.

"How is that I am the driver and you have a better view than I do?" she wondered, gazing out the massive windows along the back of his room that looked to the Summer Sea. Her side of the hotel looked at the damn parking lot. She smirked, hands on her hips, turning to him. "I thought it was in my rider that I have to have a sea view?"

He rolled his eyes, pouring their whiskey. "I casually ignored it."

"Nothing casual about it, you just didn't care."

"More likely." He walked over, handing her the glass. She tilted it towards his, clinking them lightly. Their hotel was one of the top ones in Sunspear, the capital of Dorne. It was in one of the old Martell castles, probably cost several thousand a night, but the Starks could afford it. Meant the suites were complete with wet bars, large terraces and furniture befitting kings and queens. She knew Jon was uncomfortable in places like this. For someone who grew up in wealth, he really did not like it. Unless of course he could play with the pretty cars and motorcycles and fast toys his wealth could get him.

She stepped from him, out through one of the sets of double doors, open to the terrace. It was warm, but not offensively so as most of her trips to Dorne had been, including their last one. She shuddered; it was almost a year ago, when they'd rekindled their... _relationship_. Seemed odd to call it that. What they had, going all the way back to when they were teens, it had always seemed to be bigger than simple terms like _relationship._ She had never even referred to him as her _boyfriend._ He was just... _Jon._

Before Rhaegar took her up North, she had kissed a few boys. They were boring though. She had never really been serious about them, just wanted to know what it felt like. They, of course, had felt _honored_ to have the rich girl of Dragonstone give them a kiss. Until she corrected them when they were trying to act cool about their cars or their bikes. Dummies. Then there was Jon Snow. She had immediately fallen for him. After wanting to kick his ass to Dragonstone and back because she was such an _arsehole._

Tomorrow would be the one to decide it though, the race that would determine if bringing her into the Stark team would pay off. Robb would finally get his win, even if he hadn't been the driver behind the wheel. She would stay on another season; her contract was for two years. She wondered if Jon knew that. She stood at the stone wall, looking towards the sea, azure and shining in the sunlight. There was something beautiful about Dorne.

Too bad there was a sinister darkness to it as well. The hospital where she'd woken up without her baby was about a mile from the hotel. She sipped her whiskey, twirling the glass around in her fingers. Jon came to lean beside her, his back to the water. he set the glass on the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

She shrugged. "I'm going to race in the Dorne Grand Prix tomorrow. What are you doing here?"

"Looking at someone who isn't answering my question."

 _Damn him._ She fidgeted, looking into her glass. She chose her words carefully. "We have not really...talked. Since we stopped...what we were doing. Back in Dorne, I just..." She released a frustrated sigh and turned to face him completely. He looked so unaffected. It was such a lie. He buried things so deep. "I miss us, Jon. Whatever we were doing...I miss you." She took a deep breath, holding it, staving off tears. Except they began to well, shining in her eyes, even if they remained unshed. "I know we agreed to wait until after the season, but…” She exhaled hard again. “ _Fuck_ , I miss you.”

His forehead wrinkled, his gray eyes immediately filling with pain. "Dany," he whispered.

"Jon, we lost a baby here. It was bound to happen…this again." She hiccupped. "And we lost...so much. I don't want to lose it again." _What are you doing Dany?_ She never put herself out like this. If she did, she got hurt. It wasn't worth the pain. Except it was. It was him. She reached for him, curling her fingers in his shirt. "Maybe it's this place."

He touched his hand over the top of hers. "It's been killing me," he rasped. His free hand rose to tuck a curl behind her ear, dragging his fingers along the line of her jaw, his thumb raking on her lower lip. His eyes were black now. "Pretending I don't still feel the way I do about you." He leaned closer. “I was going to go to you tonight...I couldn’t…couldn’t stop feeling it either.”

"And what is that Jon? Lust?"

He shook his head. That was what it always felt like. They were attracted to each other so intensely it scared her. It was never just lust and hormones though. Maybe as kids, but certainly not now. He lightly cupped her face, while the other moved to grip at her hip, his body closing in against hers. She could hear his rasping breath, the uncertainty radiating from him. They had never been so unsure before. She closed her eyes, unable to stand it. She had kept to herself for almost a year now. Before that it had been five years. Except that was different.

He nosed against hers, whispering. "I was so mad at you."

"Me too."

"I don't even know why."

She smiled, eyes opening just enough to meet his, whispering. "We were young and stupid?"

"Is that an excuse?"

"I don't know." She thought it could be. They had limited time left, she thought, catching the dying sun out of the corner of her eye. They would need to be awake early. The car would take them to the track. There were meetings and interviews and prep to be done. It would be whatever it was going to be. She barely touched her mouth to his. "Do you want this?"

Whatever sound came from them both, she couldn't tell who did it first. She was raised off the ground, gasping into his mouth as his arms swung under her knees, forcing her arms around his neck. She smiled, remembering the last time he'd lifted her like this. They had just come back to the cottage from the godswood. They had already been married legally, but in front of the Old Gods they had yet to pledge themselves. He'd lifted her off her feet, swung her in a circle, her vintage white dress and cloak flowing around them before carrying her off into the house, both of them in a fit of giggles.

This was not that giddy time.

She didn't want him to think of that, so she kissed him, not breaking it as he lowered her to the giant king-size bed. She was unsure what was happening and how, just that she wanted to feel good in this place that brought them so much pain, the last time they were here for this race. She held his face as he kissed her, closed her eyes and gasped as the pleasure coursed through her body, lying back in the soft sheets, her fingers clutching at her sides as he made his way over her, lightly dropping kisses along her chest, his mouth capturing her breasts and teasing her with little flicks and nips and stroking her everywhere and nowhere at once.

They shed their clothes, each one helping the other, trying never to separate, only doing so if they had no other option. She touched the scars over his chest, from so many crashes and accidents. Kissed each one in turn, taking her time as she treated him with the same care and commitment to making him feel good as he did with her. They fell together, over and over, twisting limbs and gasping sighs and moans, fingers and hands and lips bringing each other to pleasurable peaks, before she finally could take no more of it and reached for him.

They didn’t break their kiss as he slid into her, agonizingly slow, his fingers pressing against her hipbones, lifting her pelvis up to angle in a way that filled her so deeply and so well, she could not tell where she ended, and he began. “Please,” she begged, whimpering, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Gods Jon, please.”

Without saying anything, he took her mouth with his once more, harder this time, desperate, replicating the movement of their bodies. She wanted this slow, or she had at least, but she always forgot how it could become with them, how they lost all control when they were like this. The intensity of their want and need for each other, it was like she would _die_ without him.

“Dany,” he gasped, as they furiously pressed and pulled against each other. She had her fingers entwined with his, beside her head, their bodies twisted so they each lay on their side, legs tangled. He dropped his forehead to hers. They could not control it any longer, she thought, gripping tight, her free hand coming to hold his jaw, nodding against him, swallowing the constriction in her throat, the bubble in her stomach threatening to burst.

Sweat dampened at the nape of her neck and she could scarcely think, only knowing that she never wanted this to end. She could be here with him for the rest of time, could die like this and die happy in his arms. “Jon,” she sobbed. “Please. I can’t…”

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing her, his teeth biting at her lower lip, eliciting a groan. He quickened his pace and held her tight, branding her. “Let go. Just let go.”

And she did. She released whatever hold she still had on everything and let go, sobbing into him as the waves hit her again and again, beating her into nothing, and squeezed around him, not letting him go as he tensed against her, unable to stop the onslaught against his body.

They fell asleep, sometime later, lulled into comfort and dreams by the soft thud of each other’s hearts. She didn’t realize how long they slept, just that they sought each other again once more, before she woke, the sunlight beginning to rise. She slipped from Jon’s arms, kissing him gently, watching him for a few moments. He was so peaceful when he was asleep. The lines and frustrations of his face were smooth; his lips slightly parted. Sometimes he would even be smiling in his sleep. She leaned in and brushed her lips to his ear, whispering. “I love you Jon.”

He made no sound, his chest still rising and falling with deep slumber. She wished it didn’t have to be like this, but it would be easier. _Especially today._ She quietly pulled her clothing back on and sneaked quietly from the room, making sure the door barely clicked as it closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: (The end for sure); it's the final race, but will history repeat for Jon and Dany?


	4. riding to the sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History repeats in Dorne; an epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally this "one shot" is over.
> 
> Next multichapter will be in awhile, until then, enjoy some oneshots as the come to me.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Something had shifted under their feet the previous night, more so than it had when they'd collapsed against each other in front of the waterfalls. Or when they decided to remain professional. All those various times over the last year when they could have fallen back into each other and didn't, as much as it was clear they wanted to. Jon wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, just that he had woken alone in his room, the spot beside him in bed cool to touch, and he hadn’t seen her until he got to the track.

She had already done her various pre-race requirements and was giving an interview, her management at her side, Tyrion Lannister and Barristan Selmy. He wondered briefly where Davos was, if there were interviews being done. Or Robb, for that matter. Never met a camera he didn’t love. He went into their rooms, finding Robb and Sansa waiting. “Where’s Arya?” he asked.

“With the race officials, they’re doing the car inspections.”

He nodded. The car would be inspected to ensure that there had been no tampering or violation of the rules. It would be moved to the final spot by the track before the race. Gendry would no doubt be with her as well. He raked his hands through his hair, before tying it back, staring at a point on the floor to distract him.

Robb approached, his crutch switched out for a rather elegant and obnoxious black cane with a wolf handle, like he was some ancient lord. He still had a rather heavy limp. “Everything alright?” He reached out, lightly touching his elbow. Brotherly concern filled him, which Jon was grateful for. He nodded, but said nothing. Robb’s blue eyes widened. “You both are here. That’s a good thing. If you want to…”

He cut him off with a snap. “I will not back out now.”

To Robb’s credit, he lifted his free hand, begging off. They said nothing more of it, but Jon just had that horrible feeling creeping up his spine. It reminded him of how he’d felt when he’d been the driver, the last time on this track. He had never come back here when Robb was racing. He wasn’t as involved at the time, preferring to remain at Winterfell, only venturing out to the big races when he felt like it. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get rid of it. It was just the past creeping on him.

The morning went on as it should. It was early afternoon, the race occurring towards the end of the day, because of the Dornish sunsets. It was a whole _aesthetic_ thing. He wished they could just do this and get it over with. He ended up down in their berth, Robb giving him a tight hug before he went up to the owners’ boxes. He ignored Arya and Gendry, both of whom vibrated with anticipation and unspent energy. He let them finish their final workthroughs, whatever it was they did with the rest of the crew.

He wondered where Dany was. It was almost time. She should be there, to do their pre-race ritual. His fingers itched. For the first time in years he really wanted a cigarette. He flexed his hands at his sides, staring out at the track. It was such an ugly thing, the Dornish track. Each one had their pros and cons, some liked certain ones more than others. He preferred tracks like the North. Inclines and declines, purposefully challenging. Even ones like Westerlands, with their sharp turns. The Dornish one was just…he hated it. It was hot and sticky; it went through desert. The sun was blinding, no matter where you looked. The track glinted with it, heat wafting off the asphalt. It absolutely _destroyed_ tires. It wasn’t crashes from turns or weather that ended drivers here, it was the heat.

Or whatever it was that had ended him.

He stared at the spot; it was just beyond the starting line, that was where everything ended. He’d been high on the excitement of _winning._ Robb and Ned and Benjen were yelling in his ear on the radio over how he _did it._ He had been screaming, preemptively celebrating—which he never did again after that—when something had happened with the engine. It began to stall. He’d lost complete control of the steering. It was like the whole car gave up and he’d spun out, smashed into a sidewall, but he was going so fast that he’d just flung back to the track, in time for another car to hit him. Then he’d gone tumbling, remembering—somehow—his training for events like that.

He had tasted blood in his mouth and felt heat all around him. _Fire._ He thought there was no better way to die. Consumed in flame, they always did say that Dany would be the death of him, after all. She was fire, was she not? He had heard people asking him his name, could he hear them? He wasn’t supposed to move his head, he could have spinal injury. He’d gotten out of the car, they’d put him on a stretcher, and carted him off, and he’d blacked out.

That was the last time he’d ever been in a race. He shook his head slightly, musing over that simple little spot on the track, where right now race officials were running around. Camera crews jogged down the area as well. So innocuous. No one but him would know that spot’s horrible history.

“Jon.”

He heard a drawling voice, blinking and frowning at the sight of one of Dany’s managers, Tyrion Lannister, approaching him. The dwarf wore a simple suit, with gray shirt and black tie. No acknowledgement of his last name, he had been all but shunned from his family since his birth and if Jon knew Tyrion, he preferred it that way. Rumors had it that Cersei had even tried to _murder_ her youngest brother numerous times through the years. He still never fully trusted him though. “Yes?” he asked.

Tyrion scanned the racecar, gleaming white. He looked up at him, concerned. “I was talking to my brother just now. He seems...nervous. He is never nervous.” He frowned, voice dropping further. Jon leaned over slightly so he could hear better. “You are sure that you have checked _everything_ on this car, correct?”

Chill made its way down his spine. That feeling of foreboding just sat on him harder, smothering him. “Yes, why?” he murmured, trying not to look too concerned. There were cameras everywhere.

“I have a bad feeling about my family.”

“You always do.”

“Hmm, for good reason,” Tyrion murmured. He took a deep breath, guiding him over to what constituted a quiet corner. His eyebrows arched. “My family is desperate. More than they usually are. I’ve heard from trusted sources within the company that the family is going bankrupt. My father’s latest gamble on competing with Stark Motors and even trying to buy out the last of Balerion Industries failed.”

_Bankrupt?_ He kept his face impassive. He stroked lightly at his beard, shrugging nonchalantly, but inside he was screaming. It explained just about everything within the last year. The absolute desperate need with which Lannister was working to unseat them. “Bankrupt?” he whispered. He shook his head and chuckled. “So he wants to win the championship because of the good press it will give him.”

“And the money,” Tyrion added.

“It’s insane.”

“No one ever said that my father or my siblings were sane.” He sighed hard, pinching at his nose, the scar that crossed his face, allegedly from one of Cersei’s attacks on him, darkened, almost splitting his face into two. “My brother is stupid. He does what Cersei tells him, always has, but he isn’t truly evil. I fear whatever it is she has convinced him to do if he’s nervous. It was always one of his worst characteristics, never thinking of consequences.”

It was too late to look at the car; the officials had already done their final sign offs. He could only hope that none of them had recently received a _gift_ from the Lannister or that whatever it was they had done to the car would have been bad enough to be caught. He blew out a hard breath, muttered a ‘thanks’ to Tyrion, and went back to the car, but to his shock, Dany had already walked out and right by him, hopping into the vehicle. Her face was shielded from him in her helmet and her gloves were already on. He swallowed hard. They hadn’t done their pre-race warmup. Their slap and kiss.

He rubbed his cheek, almost imagining the sting. _Wishing_ he could feel it. It was so silly, but it had _worked._ All these years. It was too late for him to say anything to her, as much as he wanted to. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her she was going to win this thing, that when it was over, when Stark Motors had the cup and it was all over for the season, they could go back to Winterfell and truly work on what it was between them. With no other distractions.

“You good Jon?” Arya asked, coming beside him. She had her headset on, handed him his. He nodded, securing the radio pack to his hip and snaked the cable up over his shoulder as he secured the headset. It was loud suddenly, all around, and the radios were the only way they could communicate. Engines were revving, people were shouting, and crews were finishing their last-minute checks on equipment. It was time for Arya to get to the pit.

He gave a thumb’s up to Dany, tapping on the headset. She returned the thumb’s up and he heard a light hiss, her voice filtering in his ear. “All set.”

“You good?” he asked.

“Good.”

“ _Dracarys_ , Daenerys,” he said. It was full permission for her to go Mad Queen. To rip the shit out of everyone on that track and burn them down. He heard her chuckle, but she said nothing. He watched, the race officials leading them out of the berths, to take their first few warm-up laps. He made his way to their booth and took his spot. He grabbed a pen and began to make notes, the schematics and the paperwork in front of him, flicking to an open channel, hearing the various voices and accents of everyone getting things ready for start.

During qualifying he had coached her not to go full out, as much as she wanted to get P1. Especially for this particular race. It was not worth showing their hand. Showing anything that Arya had done to the engine or the refines that Gendry had made to the air flow over the wings or the hood. Just do well enough to get one of the top spots, which she had, pulling into P3. Jaime had gotten P1, almost blowing out his engine during qualifying. _Stupid lions_ , Jon scoffed.

He felt his stomach flip, dancing in his abdomen. _Why am I so fucking nervous?_ He dug his fingers into his palm, squeezing his hand into a tight fist, focusing all his energy and anger into the limb. Otherwise he might go punch someone and that would not do well at all. He shoved his glasses on, blinking hard at the screens in front of him, the engines revving, the drone of commentators in the background blending with the screams of the audience. He flicked his radio back to the private channel for the team. “How’s it feel?” he asked.

“Good, everything feels good,” Dany said. He immediately noted the slight tremble in her words. “Engine’s purring like a baby dragon.”

“And the gears?” Arya had fucked with them a bit, to smooth the transitions between them, save as much time as possible.

“Slick as a baby seal.”

He rolled his eyes, at the reference to what Tormund, one of his lecherous friends and head of their plant in Eastwatch, said when he was giving him sex advice once he learned that he and Dany were screwing around. He was seventeen and to be honest, it was probably the best advice he’d received, since Robb’s had been absolutely useless. “That’s good to know.”

She chuckled. “It’s good Jon.” She paused. “Fire and blood.”

He nodded, staring at the start sequence. “Fire and blood,” he murmured, once it hit five.

And they were off.

~/~/~/~

Dany felt like she was on fucking _fire._

The same rush of adrenaline that coursed through her was similar to the same feeling she felt when she was fucking Jon. When she was tangled in his arms and his body, her heart screaming in her ears and her breath escaping her, and when she thought she could simply die with him around her. They were born adrenaline junkies, it was the most potent drug she had ever taken, naturally occurring whether she was flying in one of her cars or on the back of Jon’s motorcycle or riding him for hours in the night. Sometimes she wondered if it were possible to ever overdose on it and if it was, she imagined there was no better way to go.

The car around her was purring, a happy dragon, making the final lap, the Dornish sunset bleeding red and orange on the track. The visor over her eyes prevented her from truly enjoying it, as she was trying to stare at the track, but unfortunately it was beginning to blind her, the sun right in front as she finished out. She was laughing, though. High on everything, on the driving, the winning, and the accomplishment. She could hardly focus, because she was going to _win._ And once she crossed that finish line, once she made her victory lap, she was going to climb out of the car and she was going to take Jon Snow for hers, once and for _fucking_ all.

Whether he cared or not, he was hers and she was his.

“Jon it’s happening,” she cried into the radio, laughing almost hysterically. “We’re going to win!”

Arya and Gendry and the rest of the crew were already celebrating but leave it to Jon to remain pessimistic. “Don’t celebrate too soon, just take it easy.”

“Fuck that, we’re winning!” Arya screamed.

She kept laughing, taking one of the last turns. The finish line was in sight, the grandstand with all the spectators. Gods, she wondered what Robb was thinking now. This was his life’s goal, something he’d wanted to do for his father, and was finally going to be able to do. To say that his team won the Realm Championship. She stared at her controls, dials, and gauges, coming up on one of the final turns, where she would slam out and complete her run, taking it all home for Stark Racing.

The turn was sharp, she remembered, and it had given her brief pause throughout the race, the way you had to approach it and the rate of speed. The sun glinted on it, the steaming evening heat blinding her. “Fuck,” she cursed, glad that it was almost over. She turned the wheel, but then something happened.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the red and gold of the Lannister car edge on her. _No!_ She couldn’t let him overtake her. She turned hard, intent on hugging the curve, but she was going too fast and suddenly she felt something snap in the car, eyes widening as she no longer had control. “Jon!” she screamed, all other control escaping her, and her heart flying out her chest, the adrenaline taking over to save her, rather than drug her.

“Dany!”

Arya was shouting in her ear, trying to give her instruction, to find out what was happening with the car so she could try to give her solutions, but it was too late, she thought. She heard Jon yelling, to pull out, move over, but she couldn’t do that. She was _so close._ If only she could…she turned hard, gunning it as much as she couldn’t, trying to countersteer, but it was too much.

Jaime moved again; she was still ahead of him, but she knew he was as desperate as she was to win. The line was in sight, she just had to get the tip of her car over it. She could see it, see the signs and the screens. She was going to _win_ , even as her car swung free. He moved to overtake. _He’s too close_ , she realized, almost too late, unable to get ahead, she was swinging out of control and he was too close, and before she knew it, she saw red and gold, sparks, and felt the impact, steeling herself against it, her head filling with the cries of Jon—or maybe her?—in her headset.

Everything went into slow motion.

Somehow, she was flying, she realized, eyes opening to see the red sky above her. She smiled. It was so _beautiful._ All she had ever wanted to do was fly. To be like the dragonriders of her ancestors. She did not realize they were real. They were real, because she was actually flying. Her body seemed weightless, air blowing on her face, and the sky bottomless before her.

And then everything went black.

~/~/~/~

_Not again. Not again. Not again._

Everything went black, when he heard her terrified scream. When he saw the red and gold Lannister car collide into hers, the white and gray flying through the air. She had already made it over the finish line, the clock had ended, the photo of her smiling face appearing on the main screen with a ‘#1’ appearing beside it, when she’d gone flying. He could only see images of the last time he was on this track, could only feel the heat and the pain in his body from his crash. He went numb, he moved automatically, and his limbs felt jerky as he stumbled from their booth to the track, suddenly breaking into a run, screaming and throwing off his headset.

People tried to stop him. Security and other teams, trying to haul him back from the track, but he couldn’t. He fought them at every step and every turn. He thought he saw Arya and the rest of the Stark crew spread out, but they were pushed back. Race officials were throwing up flags and warnings for the other cars, as the safety team and medics made their way to the wreckage.

He could hardly take in the twisted metal, sparks flying and flames exploding from Jaime’s car. It appeared as though the fuel tank had leaked. He could see nothing but blood coming from Jaime’s body, which they hauled onto a stretcher. They’d had to cut him free—it looked like his hand was mangled, from a brief look. He couldn’t think of Lannister; he had to get to Dany.

More people got in his way; they got decked. He flew to the cage of the Direwolf, security on him, but he just shrugged them off. Arya told him once that he was an adrenaline addict, but that it should terrify anyone when he got hopped up on it, because he was worse than a junkie on any other sort of stimulant. He became “berserk” she called it. Nothing could keep him down. Wild wolf, wild dragon, whatever you wanted to call it.

He needed to get to her.

Nothing mattered any longer but getting to her. _Was this how she felt when I crashed here?_ He could see her in the cage, trapped in her harness. They were untangling her, removing her carefully, shouting not to jostle her head. “Dany!” he screamed, climbing up and over, pushing a medic out of the way who said not to touch her, she could be injured.

His hands shook, stroking her face, smearing crimson blood that tracked from her temple and her nose and the corner of her mouth. He carefully took off her helmet, her head lolling slightly on the thick neck brace that locked her into the driver’s seat. Blood caked along her silver hair. “Oh…Dany…” he breathed. Her beautiful violet eyes were closed to him, the lashes flickering slightly. She moaned softly, the sound almost music to his ears. _She’s alive._ He began to babble, mumbling and crying random words and sounds. “I love you, I love you Dany, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me again. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything, I’ll fix everything.”

He didn’t even register people around him, getting her from the harness and onto a stretcher. His hands touched every part of her he could, to reassure himself she was there and she was real. He kept a hand on her face, ignoring the blood, leaning forward and crying to her. “Marry me,” he whispered. “I can’t leave Dorne again without you. I can’t do this again. Not like last time.” He mumbled it, over and over, praying to all the gods she could hear him.

Her eyes flickered, when they got her onto another stretcher, this time moving her off the wreckage of the car. He jumped down to her side, grasping for her hand, his other going to touch her forehead again. They had a C-collar on her and she was strapped down. Her elbow looked askew. He tried not to focus on the blood, tried to focus on her, and her lashes lifted, giving him a glimpse. “Show me your eyes,” he begged, almost sobbed. “Let me see them Dany.”

The violet appeared, barely, and her lips pulled slightly, blood still trickling from the corner of her mouth, staining at her pale skin. “Did you win?” she barely whispered. He grabbed for her hand, squeezed, and practically broke when he felt the light squeeze from her index finger. It was something. He nodded and she tried to smile. “Good,” she managed to get out, her eyes closing again.

He laughed, kissing her knuckles. “We won, you won Dany.” He wondered if she’d heard him, if she knew what he’d said. He leaned back over her, kissing her again, trying to keep her awake. They were rushing, somehow he was keeping up with the speed of the medics, unsure where they were taking them. Wherever it was, he’d go with her.

He was never letting her go again.

She smiled again, barely, eyes still flickering. “Jon?” He focused on her; she remembered him. She winced, pain evident on her face, a low moan releasing from her lips. He tried to shush her, but she would not listen. _Typical Daenerys._ “Yes… _yes_.”

_Yes?_ It must have appeared on his face, the question, because she smiled again, voice hoarse and her finger trying to squeeze his again. “I…will…” She closed her eyes, gasping. “Marry you.” His eyes widened; _she heard me!_ She sobbed in pain and then tried to laugh, as they hoisted her into an ambulance, her hand releasing his. He crawled into the ambulance, remaining at her side. She breathed again, whispering. “Stupid…wolf.”

He laughed, kissing her hand, leaning back only when one of the medics forced him, and kept his eyes on her as they began to work on her, attaching wires and tubes and shouted out vital signs. He felt everything go fuzzy on the outsides of his vision and could focus on nothing but her.

~/~/~/~

_Ouch._

_Fuck._

_Where am I?_

The random parsing of thoughts in her mind were what woke Dany from a very strange dream she had been having. In the dream, she was about to win the Dorne Grand Prix, take home the overall Realm Championship…but then she’d crashed. _How did that happen?_ Except instead of crashing, she had taken flight, as if she were on the back of a dragon.

She was flying, like Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, her ancestors. She was living out the fantasies she had as a child and even the pretend she liked to play when she was in the cockpit of her racecars or when she would sneak behind the wheel of the antique cars in the garage as a little girl.

There was something else too. She heard Jon, pleading with her to look at him, heard his words of love, of promise, and begging her to marry him. A pain took her chest, forcing her eyes open, gasping for breath, but something seemed to fog up around her as she fought for air. She realized that it was _not_ a dream. A bright light burned her eyes and she cried out, trying to shield it from her, but her arms were weights, holding her down to a bed.

“Easy, easy,” a voice—female—said. The light dimmed slightly, and she opened her eyes again, this time everything seeming a bit clearer. A small, mousy face peered over her. _Arya_. The young woman smiled, relieved. “You’re awake…gods, he’s going to be so happy. Relax, don’t move.”

The bed’s motors groaned as she felt lifted up slightly, realizing now she was in a hospital room. She heaved in panic, sweat trickling cold down the side of her face. _It’s alright, you’re not there again, it’s alright._ The panic faded, her breath regulating, fending off the onslaught of the panic attack. It was a hospital room, the same pale gray colors as the one she’d been in before.

It seemed as though she were unable to leave Dorne without spending time in a hospital.

Arya leaned over her again, offering her a straw. She took it carefully between her lips, sucking hard, the lukewarm water wetting her throat and waking her up some. She coughed, closing her eyes, more pain vibrating in her. “What…happened?” she croaked.

“Steering gave out at the last minute, I’m still not sure if it wasn’t on purpose,” Arya murmured. She lifted her brows. “But you won, that’s what matters. You beat Jaime. He hit you at the last minute, didn’t realize you were out of control and you slammed into him when he tried to overtake you.” She winced. “He lost his hand. Got it trapped somehow. Anyway…” She sighed, sitting back down in the chair beside her, keeping her voice soft. “You have a concussion. Tons of scrapes, bruises, and a broken collarbone. No internal bleeding, but they’re keeping you under observation for a couple days. Nasty cut on your head, you needed stitches.”

She turned her head slightly, about to ask another question, which was answered when she saw the figure asleep in the chair on the other side of her bed. A glance down realized that the reason she couldn’t move her arm was because his head was atop it, his fingers tangled in hers. Dark curls fell over his forehead, a frown puckering his forehead, even in sleep. She smiled, eyes closing, falling back to sleep, as Arya said something about how Robb wanted to see her when she woke up.

_Later._

When she woke up again, she was less groggy. She was also in much less pain, her vision clearer. She peered sideways; Jon was in the chair next to her, his fingers loose in her hand. “Jon?” she murmured. She tugged on his hand, alerting him. He moved slightly and his eyelids flickered, before opening on her. She smiled, as best as she could; _I must look horrible_ , she thought. “Hi.”

Jon was awake in a moment, kicking back slightly from the chair and forcing himself to the bed, leaning over her and stroking her hair with one hand while he squeezed her other. “You’re awake,” he whispered, turning to look at the monitors, which had begun beeping a little faster. He chuckled, turning to smile at her. “Your heart is racing.”

“It always is,” she said. She smiled, squeezing his hand. “Jon.”

He ran his fingers over her face, his thumb brushing her lip. He leaned closer, whispering to her. “I don’t know what you remember of the crash, but I said some things…”

“No,” she interrupted. She wanted to shake her head, but nausea overtook her when she tried to sit up a bit more. She blinked rapidly, forcing away the ill feeling. She winced, crying out softly as pain went up her arm and across her chest. She breathed deeply, realizing there was tubing in her nose, oxygen flooding into her lungs. She exhaled, the burn fading. “Jon…what you said…I…” Now it was tears that forced her to blink faster again. “I heard you.”

He stilled. “Oh?”

“And…” she continued, trying to focus on something on the ceiling. She didn’t know what he had planned to say to her, but she was not going to let this go away again. They were not leaving Dorne separated once more. She would not allow it. She laughed, but it just caused more pain, so she closed her eyes tight, whispering. “I don’t care if you didn’t mean it, because I do. I love you and I don’t want to lose you again. I refuse…refuse to let you go. You are mine, Jon Snow. I forbid you from taking back what you said. You can never leave me again.”

She didn’t know what he was going to do or say. To be honest, she didn’t care. She said her part. It exhausted her, her eyes falling shut and breath coming in rasping heaves. She swallowed hard, throat tightening. A shadow crossed over her and the bed sagged slightly, creaking quietly. She opened her eyes, unsure what she was going to see. She gasped, soft, Jon’s face taking up her vision. He was smiling, gentle and loving. His gray eyes were filled with something she had not seen in him for so long. _Stillness._ He was still, calm, and at peace. It was something she had always longed to see in him, but he was always so restless. He took her free hand, brought it to his lips, kissing her hand. “I never planned to take back what I said,” he whispered. He leaned in, touching his forehead carefully to hers, their noses brushing. A few tears trickled down the sides of her face. He pressed his lips to hers, gentle. “I meant it Dany. I’m not letting you go again.”

She sobbed, ignoring the pain. “And if I hadn’t been in the crash?”

“I was always going to make you mine, Dany. Because you are.” He kissed her, harder this time, cupping her face. He broke away, just for a moment, voice shaky. “You left me…why?”

_I don’t even know anymore._ “I don’t remember, I needed to think.” She hiccuped. She blinked hard. “I got in the car and I knew…when it ended…I was going to go to you. To tell you. I love you; I always have, and I always will. You’re my first Jon. My first everything and I know…we have a lot to go through. I just don’t want to lose more time.”

Because they didn’t have endless amounts of it. They’d lost so much already. He nodded against her, chuckling. “I’ll do whatever you want…however you want…if you want to go to therapy or just take time or whatever. I’m not leaving here without you.”

She squeezed his wrist hard, or at least, as hard as she could in her weakened state. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he breathed. He lay next to her, holding her gently in his strong arms, and she closed her eyes, falling back to sleep.

This time, her dreams were of flying again, except with him beside her.

~/~/~/~

_**Epilogue** _

“Shh!”

The tools clattered on the workbench, falling off as Dany giggled, trying to hoist herself up onto the old table while Jon fought with both his belt and the tangle of her knickers, which were now caught in the fold of her knee. He cursed, trying to tear at the fabric, but she giggled again, moving away from the rickety bench and the tools that fell around them, making more noise. Now it was Jon’s turn to hiss. “Shh!”

They were stupid fools, she thought, laughing into his mouth, falling backwards against the body of the sportscar that was still unfinished. She reached behind her, pulling at the handle, the door swinging open. She grabbed the front of Jon’s t-shirt, grinning. “You ever fuck in the backseat of a car, Jon Snow?”

It was his turn to grin. “Only with you.”

She giggled, falling backwards into the seat, scrambling to kick off her leggings and knickers, while he jerked on his belt, lowering his jeans just enough for her to grasp him, pulling him towards where she wanted him most. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, his mouth suckling on the sweet spot of her neck, while she ran her hands up and down his back, beneath his shirt, which she could not even bother to take off.

They didn’t have long, she thought, her chest aching. She arched her hips to him, taking him in, moaning and gasping as he filled her. She reached a hand up to the open window of the car, gripping tight for purchase, as he began to thrust, hard and swift, the filthy sounds of their bodies slamming together filling the small garage, joined by their fevered gasps and moans. She felt her knees press up almost to her shoulders, body folding in on itself as he pressed against her harder and faster.

It was furious, both of them needing the release, which had been building for so long, unable to find a moment of peace. It seemed every which way they turned there was someone there needing them, asking questions, or otherwise taking up their time. By the end of the day, they were so exhausted they just fell into bed together, sleeping like the dead, until it started over again.

Pleasure contorted over her face; she could feel that rising in her stomach, the pressure consuming her; she slid frantically against him, sobbing into his ear. “Please, more,” she begged.

His hand snaked between them, thumbing her clit, gathering the wetness that seeped from her around him and dragging it over the swollen bud, as he pounded furiously into her, the denim from his jeans abrading her inner thighs. His movements grew erratic; she knew he wasn’t going to last long. It was almost over for her too. She could see it, that blinding, blissful light.

Nails dug into his shoulders, her hand gripped tighter above her on the door frame and…almost…

_”Waaaaaahhhhhh!”_

The piercing, shrill cry from the monitor on the bench beside the car drowned out any sounds of pleasure from inside the old car. She almost burst into tears. “Fuck!” Jon exclaimed, forehead falling against her. She pushed at him, but he shook his head. “No, no, no, no, almost there, we’re almost there, just ignore…”

The cries grew louder, more insistent.

She was going to join in soon enough. She pushed at him, as he tried once more to move against her. “No, no, no! If I can’t, then you can’t.”

He groaned, pulling out of her and falling backwards from the car, pulling his jeans back up over his hips. It didn’t matter; the mood was ruined. Any desire they had in that moment was gone, their brains focused entirely on stopping the crying. Maybe it was programmed, she thought, pulling her pants back on while Jon adjusted himself. They looked back wistfully at the car and the tools that were on the floor. She shrugged. “Maybe later,” she said, patting his cheek and grabbing the monitor.

“I’m holding you to that!”

She went up into the cottage, only to find that the crying had abated because Robb was standing over the cradle, gathering up his niece. “I didn’t know you were nearby,” she said, surprised. She looked over her shoulder, frowning. “Ah…how long have you been here?”

“Don’t worry, saw the door was open and heard this little lass,” Robb cooed, holding up the baby, whose dark curls stuck up around her red face. She gave her mother a reproachful look, one Dany recognized as all Jon Snow. Robb chuckled. “Looks just like her father when she’s mad.”

“Unfortunately,” she teased. She took her daughter from Robb, bouncing her lightly. “You hungry, sweet girl?”

Almost a year old now, Laena sniffed, turning her head and looking over to Jon, her violet eyes lighting up. She squealed, crying out again, hands reaching for him. He took her with a wide smile, eyes lighting up to mirror those of his daughter, immediately cradling her against his chest, whispering to her as he wandered out of the main living room and through the wide glass side doors to the back deck, Ghost following. She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest, as father and daughter knelt over a child size motorized racecar, a gift from Auntie Arya.

She turned back to Robb, smiling briefly. “What can I help you with Robb?”

He chuckled, with barely a limp and no longer using his cane, over to the window, peering out at Jon and Laena. “I have to submit the names for the upcoming season.” He rolled his eyes sideways, smirking. “You make up your mind yet?”

She swished her lips around, walking over to lean against the stone wall, looking out as Jon carried Laena to one of the dragons—Viserion—moving to sit her in the driver’s seat, her happy squeals filling the air with sweetness. She glanced sideways again, hands on her hips. “Yes. I’ve made up my mind.”

Robb arched his brows. “And for this season? Who gets to drive for Stark Motors?”

Dany only smiled.

~/~/~/~

Robb stared at the screen, eyes widening when the white and gray Direwolf sped across the finish line, the crowds jumping and cheering, and the images flashing over the jumbo screen that took up the raceway outside of Highgarden, the Rose Reach Grand Prix now over, and the winner taking a lap around the inner track. He hurried with Sansa through the halls from the owner’s boxes and down to the Stark berth, where the crew was celebrating.

It was just the first race of the year, plenty of more left, and he had no illusions that other teams were fielding fantastic drivers and it would be tough, but he had the best team that racing could provide, and he knew it. He got down to the stretch of the track, the pull off where the Direwolf coasted to a stop, Arya and Gendry jumping in each other’s arms still. “Aren’t you jealous?” he shouted over the sounds of people screaming and the engines still blowing by.

Dany turned to look at him, in her Stark Motors uniform, holding Laena on her hip, the toddler wearing a miniature Stark Motors suit and thick gray ear protectors, her fingers shoved in her mouth as she kept one hand on her mother’s shoulder, gray eyes taking in all the movement and activity around her. “Jealous?” she called, laughing. “Fuck no, this is his moment!”

They both turned, seeing Jon launch himself from the driver’s seat of the car, throwing his black helmet with the three red dragons on it aside, his dark curls falling around his face as his hands went up in victory. Cameras surrounded him, and Robb stepped aside, just in time for his brother to sweep over and lift Laena up, kissing her cheek loudly before he swung Dany into his arms, planting a messy kiss on her lips.

Arya came over, covered in champagne, wiping it from her eyes. He frowned at her. “You crying?”

“No!” she shouted, punching his arm. She blinked hard, sniffing. “Well…maybe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, chuckling. He pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, watching as Jon and Dany spun in a circle, celebrating the victory with their daughter. He knew it took time, but it was finally happening. He knocked his knuckles against Arya. “Was I right, or was I right?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He smirked. “Who called her to race for us, huh?” Her eyes widened, realizing. It might not have been _exactly_ what he had expected when he'd reached out to her managers and he certainly hadn't expected her to sign up so quickly. It just all happened to work out, he supposed. Arya shook her head, slightly impressed, but said nothing. He just grinned, applauding and cheering, limping over to embrace his brother and his sister-in-law.

**fin.**


End file.
